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“Hurry! make for the cave. No time to lose now.” 

(Page 146) 




VANCE SEVIER 

OR 

From the Fig Smokies 

to Okeefenoke 


WILLIAM PERRY BROWN 

Author of 

Ralph Grangers fortune Florida 
Lads'^ For **King or Congress^' 

Sea Island *Boys^' etc. 

ILLUSTRATED. 


AKRON, OHIO. 

The SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. 

NEV YORK 1903 CHICAGO 




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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONCsHESS, 

Two Copies Receivec 


SEP 28 1903 



Copyright, 1903 

BY 

THB SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY 

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CONTENTS. 


Chapter. Page. 

I. At the Deer Stand 7 

II. A Good Shot 17 

III. Symptoms of Danger 29 

IV. The Wrestling Match 43 

V. Vance in a Tight Place 53 

VI. The Escape 63 

VII. Taking to the Woods 76 

VIII. UrPs Den 88 

IX. Mr. Martel 99 

X. Arizony Goes Home Ill 

XI. Martel and Mystery 124 

XII. At Wild Cat Ford 137 

XIII. Besieged at the Ford 147 

XIV. A Perilous Situation 159 

XV. The Stranger's Queer Behavior .... 172 

XVI. A Flight and Stern Chase 182 

XVII. Over the Summit of Snow Bird .... 196 

XVIII. Shooting the Flume 204 

XIX. The Four Mountaineers 213 

XX. Rescued and Once More Besieged .... 227 

XXL The Mill Office on Fire 240 

XXII. Constable Nuckols and the Posse . . . 250 

XXIII. On the Way to Cranch's ..’.... 262 

XXIV. A Message from Murphy 272 

XXV. Baya's Statement 285 

XXVI. Poor Old Pomp 302 * 

XXVII. Through the Heart of the Okeefenoke . 309 

XXVIII. Vance Again Shows His Skill .... 317 

XXIX. Another Arrest— Conclusion 327 





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“Hurry! make for the cave. No time to lose now 

Frontispiece 

“ If I were you, I wouldn’t say much to father or Bas 


about being a surveyor ” 86 

The three set off up the ridge, the stranger devouring 

his corn bread and bacon ravenously 172 

“If you must kill some one, try me!” 258 






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Vance Sevier. 


CHAPTER I. 

AT THE DEEK STAND. 

For the third or fourth time Vance Sevier 
examined his shotgun. It was a large bore, 
heavy muzzle-loader, known to the initiated of 
those regions as an old-fashioned ^‘bear killer.’’ 
There were sixteen large shot in each barrel, of 
the kind called ^^blue whistlers” by the moun- 
taineers. Vance felt tolerably certain of giving 
a pretty good account of himself, if that pro- 
voking deer would only come along. He had 
been on a stand in the Rymer Gap for two hours 
or more. 

At first, under the expectation of getting a 
shot within five minutes, he had 'grown so ner- 
vous as to realize what older hunters meant 
when they alluded to the ‘‘buck ager.” Then 
7 


8 


VANCE SEVIER. 


he grew impatient at what he termed the lazi- 
ness of the dogs and the possible selfishness of 
old man Tuggle in placing the young fellow 
where the deer did not appear to want to run, 
thereby improving his own chance of securing 
a shot by stationing himself in what Vance then 
thought must surely be a more favorable lo- 
cality. 

By degrees the youth became weary of fret- 
ting. Finally he leaned ^‘Old Rabe,’' as Tuggle 
called the gun, against a tree and sat down, rest- 
ing his back against the trunk of another. 

He could look out over a tumbled sea of 
densely-wooded ridges to a broad valley, some 
thirty miles below. Behind, the great mountain 
rose two thousand feet above the gap. All 
around was the forest. 

Seems to me as if deer hunting is about 
played out in the Smokies,” he refiected. ‘‘Last 
year, this time, I was out in Idaho, knocking 
over blacktails whenever I felt like exerting 
myself. I have been here now nearly a week, 


VANCE SEVIER 


and haven’t struck a thing to hunt larger than 
wild turkey. Drat the luck!” 

A far-distant baying crept up the mountain 
side, from a point apparently more than a mile 
away. It sounded less stirring than the tap, 
tap, tap of a red-headed woodpecker near by. 

‘‘I might as well take a nap,” he thought. 
^ * First time those dogs have opened in an hour, 
and, from the direction they seem to be going, 
I might as well be in— Hullo ! What the mis- 
chief is thatr’ 

He listened intently, at the same time reach- 
ing for his gun. Some distance down the slope, 
opposite from the direction where he had heard 
the dogs, the ground abruptly gave way, form- 
ing a low precipice on one side of the gap. 

Below this clitf, Vance could hear a sharp rat- 
tling of limbs and leaves, as if something were 
passing unseen. Upon that side of the mountain 
lay Eagle Basin, a tangled wilderness of scrub, 
forest and ridge. It was quite a harboring place 
for deer, and even bear. 

Seizing his gun, Vance ran in a crouching atti- 


10 


VANCE SEVIER. 


tilde down the gap to where the trail swept 
round the verge of the cliif, and looked down, 
keeping himself concealed from below. Pres- 
ently he drew back, uttering an exclamation of 
disgust. Two large hogs were rooting about 
under the leaves, after chestnuts. 

“This makes me tired!” he thought. “Six 
miles from the nearest cabin, and at a well- 
known deer stand, yet nothing to shoot at but 
hogs!” 

As he still gazed gloomily at the razor-backs, 
he became aware of a stealthy movement on his 
left. He turned, peered over a large log, then 
nearly fell from the cliif in surprise. 

Creeping behind a projecting rock that bulged 
from the cliff-side was a long, reddish-backed 
animal, with a cat-like head and a waving tail, 
half as long as its body. It peered down upon 
the hogs, shaking its haunches as if preparing 
to leap. The wind was from it towards the 
young hunter. 

Vance Sevier’s estimate of the Great Smokies 
as a game region took a sudden rise. 


VANCE SEVIEB. 


11 


‘‘Must be a catamount,” he reflected, feeling 
sundry prickling symptoms of that aggravating 
“buck ager” here and there throughout his 
anatomy. 

“Vance, my boy,” he said to himself, “now 
is the time to show Mr. Tuggle what you can do. 
These creatures are said to be dangerous only 
when wounded, but if Old Babe gets a fair 
chance—” 

In settling himself to take aim, a dead twig 
cracked under his knee. The panther looked 
round as Vance crouched behind some bushes. 
As the animal lifted its quivering nostrils the 
boy fired hurriedly. At the report the beast 
sprang up, uttering a hoarse snarl, and leaped 
towards the bushes. Vance started back, so 
close was he to the object of his attack. A loose 
rock under his foot rolled and he slipped. Then 
a limb gaVe way under his grasp and he fell side- 
ways down the scrub-lined precipice, crashing 
finally into the bed of a dry mountain rivulet 
that headed under the cliff. His gun, catching 


12 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


a sapling, hung half way up the slope, while the 
two hogs scuttled noisily through the forest. 

When Vance sat up after a moment of stupor, 
he felt a large bruise back of his ear which he 
bound up with his handkerchief, then tried to 
rise. He was lame and aching. One of his 
ankles pained dreadfully. After several efforts 
to climb up and rescue his gun he was obliged 
to desist. All this time his brain only partially 
responded to his will. 

‘‘Where was IT’ he cogitated. “Shot at 
something, didn’t I? Was it a pig? No— yes 
—by George!— it was a panther!” 

He shook his head in self -contempt. 

“My usual luck. Don’t suppose I hit any- 
thing. The other day I went to Shooler’s Cove 
trouting. Not a trout. Old Tuggle looked at 
my fifteen dollar rod and reel, and gave his 
head one of Solomon’s wags. Wonder what he 
will say when he learns of this scrape. Panther 
gone, gun out of reach, me crippled and six 
miles from supper and bed. ’ ’ 


VANCE SEVIER. 


13 


The loud baying of hounds floated across the 
gap. 

‘‘Oh, hang it all!” exclaimed Vance. “The 
dogs are coming this way after all. Perhaps 
it’s a seven-tined buck, and I am lying here in- 
stead of being on my stand.” 

He made another desperate effort to reach 
his gun, but the pain of his ankle obliged him to 
again desist. Nearer came the bay of the dogs. 
Soon he heard a long, leaping rattle of hoofs 
on the gravel of the trail above the cliff. Some- 
thing just out of his sight seemed to go by like 
the wind. The crippled youth clapped his 
hands and shouted : 

“Hi-hi-hi! Take ’em. Louder! After ’em, 
old boy! Hi-i-i-yi!” 

The dogs, led by old Louder, a favorite hound 
of Tuggle’s, swept by in full chorus. Vance, 
though from his position he could not see the 
chase, continued to shout. As he paused to take 
breath he heard the sounds of approaching 
hunters. 

“If I could crawl into a hole and puli the hole 


14 


VANCE SEVIER. 


in after me, it wouldn’t be a bad idea. I guess 
they are wondering where I am now. ’ ’ 

The unseen hunters had halted and were talk- 
ing. 

‘‘Reckon he has left the stand and got lost!” 
said a voice, which Vance knew belonged to Zeb- 
ulon Tuggle’s oldest son, Bascom. 

“More likely he’s rolled under some log and 
gone to sleep,” replied the father’s heavier 
tones. ‘ ‘ These town boys sit up so much nights, 
you can’t expect ’em to keep awake all day.” 

The horse play of laughter from a number of 
masculine throats was interrupted by a feminine 
voice. 

“Father, you and Bas ought to be ashamed! 
We heard him shoot, didn’t wel Most likely he 
has gone on after the deer. Isn’t that so, Uri F ’ 

“I think Arizony is about right,” was the 
answer, in unusually clear accents. “We had 
better push on or Vance may turn the joke on us 

yet.” 

“Arizony here, too,” thought Vance. “Won- 


VANCE SEVIER. 


15 


der what she will think? But they must not 
run off and leave me here.” 

He swallowed his pride and called loudly. 
Then a grizzled, bearded man peered over the 
precipice. • 

‘‘How’d you get down there?” asked Mr. 
Tuggle. 

‘^Pell down, of course,” responded Vance, 
snappishly, for at this instant Arizony^s come- 
ly laughing face appeared beside the old man’s. 
‘^Did you think I flew?” 

‘‘VHiere is the deer?” continued Tuggle, as 
the faces of his two sons also appeared. 

‘^Went by a few moments ago. I will have 
to trouble you to help me. I fear my ankle is 
sprained. ’ ’ 

Uri and Arizony had disappeared. 

‘‘Sho! What’d you shoot at? I ’lowed it 
was Old Rabe we heard. There ain’t another 
gun around here has such a roar.” 

‘‘I think it was a panther.” 

‘A pant’er !” 


16 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Mr. Tuggle and Bascom looked at each other 
incredulously. 

‘‘Well, where did it go?” demanded the old 
man, adding, sarcastically, “Flew away, too, I 
reckon.” 


CHAPTER 11. 


A GOOD SHOT. 

Vance, feeling that the joke was rather un- 
justly on him, naturally felt resentful. 

tell you I shot at a panther,^’ he doggedly 
replied. “Then I slipped and fell. When I 
came to, I was down here.^^ 

“And the pant’erT’ reminded the old man, 
somewhat aggravatingly. 

“How do I know?’^ said Vance, angrily. “I 
couldn’t look. Perhaps the dogs have struck 
its trail.” 

“My dog Louder was on the track of a buck. 
He won’t leave a deer trail for nothing”— this 
from the old man. 

“Do you think, father, that Vance knows the 
difference between a deer and a pant’er?” 
asked Bascom, with a frankness of sarcasm al- 
most cruel. 


17 


18 


VANCE SEVIER. 


This was pretty rough on young Sevier. In 
his own room at his parent’s home down in 
Georgia were two black bearskins artistically 
dressed, some sprawling antlers, an eighty- 
pound stuffed tarpon, a thirteen-buttoned rat- 
tlesnake, with other minor trophies of the chase 
—all the result of his own woodland skill in 
various parts of the West and South; and now 
he had to listen to such talk as this. 

^‘Are you much hurt?” began old Zebulon 
Tuggle, when he was interrupted by an excla- 
mation from Arizony, a little distance below 
where Vance was lying. 

‘‘I had rather crawl in that direction than lis- 
ten to their chaff,” decided the boy, as he scram- 
bled down the dry brook bed, half walking, half 
hitching himself along to where the stream had 
once flung itself around a large, isolated rock 
as high as a small cabin. 

On the other side Arizony was still calling. 
Vance, raising himself against the side of the 
boulder, hobbled round it and came suddenly in 
sight of Uri and Arizony Tuggle, who were 


VANCE SEVIER. 


19 


dragging the body of the panther from a deep 
hole under the lower side of the rock, made, 
doubtless, by the swirl of a winter torrent. 

“Well, you are a daisy!’’ cried Vance, his 
spirits going up at a bound. ‘ ‘ One of our town 
girls would as soon touch the— the old Nick him- 
self. What do you think now, Uri?” 

“I am glad you killed it— very glad,” assured 
Uri Tuggle, a tall boy of seventeen, with a fierce 
and touzled aspect, which his gentle and natur- 
ally refined nature singularly contradicted. 
“Father and Bas are so set up in their idea 
that no one but themselves can kill big game on 
Wacheesa Mountain, that it is no more than 
right you should show them a thing or two.” 

“And a panther, too,” said Arizony, who was 
a year younger than Uri. “Why, there hasn’t 
been one killed about here in three years or 
more. ’ ’ 

“Is he not a beauty I” said Vance, fondling 
the large, cat-like head with its tremendous 
teeth. “Mr. Tuggle is right about one thing. 


20 


VANCE SEVIER. 


When Old Rabe has a fair chance it makes a big 
mark.” 

There was a hole behind the animal’s shoul- 
der large enough to let out a dozen lives. Those 
sixteen blue whistlers had done their work thor- 
oughly. About this time Mr. Tuggle and Bas- 
com appeared. 

Like Uri , they wore battered slouch hats, 
homespun pantaloons and shirts, and coarse red 
brogans. They carried ancient-looking, muz- 
zle-loading rifles, carved powder-horns and 
otter-skin pouches. 

The features of old Zebulon Tuggle and his 
oldest son were lean, heavy and unemotional. 
Their tall, gaunt frames resembled in strength 
and ungainliness the scraggy mountain oaks 
towering over the gap. 

Uri was as powerful and raw-boned as his 
brother. His round head, square chin, beetling 
brows and shaggy mane of hair indicated power 
and fierceness. But his eyes were singularly 
mild and expressive. His use of language be- 
tokened a certain degree of refinement and edu- 


VANCE SEVIER. 


21 


cation. In his hand was the long leash used in 
confining the dogs when they were used in trail- 
ing. 

‘‘Uri is such a poor shot, it ain’t no use to put 
him on a stand,” the father had more than once 
explained to Vance. ‘ ‘ So we generally put him 
to driving with the dogs.” 

The fact that ^‘following the dogs” is the 
hardest part of the work of deer hunting in the 
mountains, did not lessen old Zeb Tuggle ’s mild 
contempt for a son who had so neglected na- 
ture’s choicest gift to man— that of drawing a 
sure bead over a long-barreled rifle. 

Arizony was bright, brave and pretty. She 
loved her father and Bas, of course, but she 
adored Uri. She delighted to tramp over the 
mountains and she hated to cook. Vance, with 
his neat hunting suit, his intricate fishing tackle, 
his polite manner and jovial good humor, was 
to her at once a wonder, a fascination and a 
fear. 

‘‘A pant’er!” ejaculated Bascom, at last. 
‘^And he got him, too!” 


22 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


‘‘Good for you, my boy!” commended the old 
man. “How do you feel? If it’s only a sprain, 
you can ride home on the mule. Arizony hap- 
pened by, on her way back from her Uncle Pow- 
ell’s. She can walk the balance of the way.” 

“Certainly I can. I wouldn’t have stopped, 
but the hounds made such music I couldn’t help 
myself. Father used to put me on a stand 
when I was only so high.” 

She held out a hand to indicate her probable 
height at the period recalled. 

“Then you can really shoot?” inquired young 
Sevier. 

‘ ‘ Of course she can shoot ! ’ ’ asserted Tuggle, 
who was still looking at the dead panther. 
“What would she be good for if she couldn’t? 
Her mother can hardly get her to touch a skillet 
or a dish. Uri’s the only one of my family who 
can’t handle a gun.” 

“Oh, well,” commented Vance, “Uri has 
spent so much time in reading and studying that 
he has not had time to hunt much.” 

“Studying!” Old Zebulon’s accent express- 


VANCE SEVIER. 


23 


ed his poor opinion of Uri^s mental accomplish- 
ments without the necessity of adding another 
word. ‘^Well, Vance, I^m glad you shot the 
beast, and that you had Old Rabe along. Sup- 
pose you’d ’a brought that little thirty-two 
breech-loader of yours instead. Wiere would 
you ’a been then!” 

‘‘Come now, Mr. Tuggle!” said Vance, de- 
termined to make the most of a discovery that 
was quite as unexpected to him as to the rest. 
“There the panther is. What more will you 
have! If I had not fallen down the blutf, 
perhaps I might have pinged the deer with the 
other barrel.” 

Bascom was looking at Vance with increased 
respect. For a “town boy” to be able to look 
a panther in the eye and shoot to kill was, to 
him, something in the nature of a miracle. 

“Well, the deer’s out of hearing and the sun 
is getting along. Bas, you run over to the other 
side of the gap and fetch the mule. I’ll see if 
I can call olf the dogs. Old Louder is down in 
the Basin by now, I reckon. Arizony, you and 


24 


VANCE SEVIER 


Uri help Vance out of the holler, and we'll all 
put out for home." 

Bascom disappeared. The old man, mount- 
ing to the crest of the nearest ridge, wound his 
hunting horn long and loudly, until glen and 
mountain-side rang again. 

Uri began to skin the panther. Arizony— 
after making Vance pull off his English hunt- 
ing shoe and draw down his sock, despite a cer- 
tain reluctance on his part— examined a rather 
swollen ankle as calmly as if she were a physi- 
cian. 

‘ ^ Give me your handkerchief, ' ' she said. 

Then, running to a near-by spring, she dipped 
it therein. 

Keturning, she bound it about his foot, and 
appeared to think no more of her primitive 
surgery, but coolly held the panther's legs, 
while Uri operated with his knife. 

^^Want the head, I suppose T' queried Mr. 
Tuggle, who had returned with part of the dogs. 
‘^They'll give you ten dollars bounty for the 
ears and scalp down at the county courthouse. ' ' 


VANCE SEVIER. 


25 


‘‘I would not take fifty for them,’’ replied 
Vance, who was thinking what an addition he 
would now make to his collection of stutfed 
trophies. 

‘‘Sho!” was all the mountaineer said in re- 
sponse, but privately he thought that Vance was 
something of a fool. 

Presently the whole party had recrossed the 
gap and were descending the sinuous spur of 
the great mountain. Young Sevier rode the 
mule, though he remonstrated at being the cause 
of Arizony having to walk. 

‘‘What does she care for six miles, and it 
mostly down hill ? ’ ’ was all that was said in re- 
ply by the father. 

For an hour the descent continued uninter- 
ruptedly. Bascom and Mr. Tuggle kept on 
either side of the trail, at a distance of twenty 
to thirty yards, while the hound-s nosed about 
the slopes. Uri and his sister trudged behind. 

Occasionally a dog would open briefly, but 
the stray scent would give out, and the yelping 
as suddenly cease. 


26 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Five miles from the gap they reached a tur- 
bulent stream of some size called the Tellico 
River, that was fighting its way through a series 
of wild gorges before it lost itself in the wider 
valley, miles away. A mile below was the Tug- 
gle cabin. 

The chance for a deer seemed to be about over 
for that day. The sun was nearly down, and 
deep shadows were already settling into the 
mountain hollows. All at once the voice of old 
Louder was heard across the river. 

^^How did he cross!’’ asked Vance. 

‘‘On the rocks that the river is so full of, I 
reckon,” replied Tuggle. “By the way he 
gives tongue, the deer ain’t far off.” 

“Perhaps it might be a ’coon or wildcat!” 
suggested Vance. 

“Do you think I don’t understand what Loud- 
er is saying!” The old man looked his scorn 
of all such insinuations against the trueness of 
his favorite hound. “A ’coon! If Louder 
knew what you was saying, I doubt if he would 


VANCE SEVIER. 


27 


ever allow himself to be caught in the woods 
with you again.” 

Uri, in a lower tone, explained that his father 
would not keep a hound that would run after 
small game when deer were to he found. Old 
Louder was especially reliable. 

^‘It takes a cur dog to run a ^coon,” added 
Arizony. There’s a deer on yonder ridge, 
certain.” 

The clamor from across the stream grew fast 
and furious. Opposite where Vance sat on the 
mule there was a scraggy clitf breaking at the 
river bank, with a high ridge rising behind. 

The old man and Bascom had already disap- 
peared, in order to flank the probable course of 
the deer. 

Suddenly an animal of a dun red color came 
leaping up the slope, the white under side of 
its tail flashing and vanishing. It was a large 
deer. Behind came Louder and two or three 
other dogs, in full cry. 

Vance raised Old Rabe, then lowered the muz- 
zle. A good rifle would hardly reach the sum- 


28 


VANCE SEVIER. 


mit of that ridge beyond the cliff, up which the 
deer was running toward another high moun- 
tain top several miles away. 

‘‘Won’t no one head it off?” exclaimed 
Vance, much excited. “Oh, if Mr. Tuggle and 
Bas only had wings!” 

‘ ‘ Hark I ’ ’ called Arizony. ‘ ‘ Who was that ? ’ ’ 

To the surprise of all, a sharp report sounded 
farther up the ridge, along which the chase was 
going. Then they heard a fiercer uproar 
among the hounds, and a few seconds later, 
back came the deer like the wind, looking from 
side to side, as if beside itself with terror. 

“Some one has cut off the deer from the 
mountain,” remarked Uri. 

Another shot rang out from the leafy coverts 
up the ridge. The deer, with the dogs at its 
heels, bounded on straight for the river. 

“The poor creature is rattled,” said Vance, 
sympathetically. “There! Over it goes!” 

Beset by its enemies and rendered desperate, 
the deer plunged from the cliff into the boiling 
stream, was whirled away in a cataract of foam, 
and disappeared almost instantly. 


CHAPTER III. 


SYMPTOMS OF DANGER. 

Arizony turned to Vance, her eyes moistening 
as she spoke. 

‘‘Poor thing! I wish whoever shot had kept 
still. I hated to see it make that jump.” 

“Will it he able to swim out?” asked Vance. 

“Hardly anything can swim in that current,” 
replied Uri. “I ana like Arizony. I wish the 
deer had got away without trying the river.” 

“Hunting is a cruel sport,” admitted Vance. 
“But somehow, one gets excited, and then one 
does not care. Hullo! Who can that be, I 
wonder ? ’ ^ 

They were about to descend to the trail run- 
ning along the river, when a man appeared 
upon the opposite cliff. He waved a hand at 
them, then began to climb down the precipitous 

29 


30 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


slope, holding his gun in one hand and grasping 
the shrubbery with the other. 

‘^That must be Wolf Eenfro,” said XJri. 
“Guess he must have been the one we heard 
shoot.’’ 

“Who is he? I don’t recall having— oh! 
You don’t mean that he is one of the people who 
live on the Wetmore Tract? I think they said 
some Eenfros were among those who are kick- 
ing the most.” 

“It is Wolf’s family. They say he is a bad 
man when he gets angry.” 

“I hardly suppose he will want to harm me,” 
continued Vance. “I am only hired to do the 
surveying.” 

“Not likely; yet up in the mountains, folks 
are not apt to distinguish between owner and 
hireling as much as they always ought to. You 
see, it is this way.” Uri was leading the mule 
as he talked. “The bosses are often way off 
in some city. -They send their hirelings down 
here to do the work and our folks naturally 
jump on them, seeing they can’t reach the 
bosses.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


31 


There is the deer— poor thing exclaimed 
Arizony. 

They were opposite a dark pool of swirling 
water, where Bascom and his father had drawn 
out the body of the deer. 

‘‘It’s a doe, and a fat one,” said the latter. 
“But the rocks have ruined the hide.” 

The deer was thrown across the mule behind 
Vance, and the party started on. After a time 
Uri came clo^e to the side of the mule. 

“If I were you,” he said, in a low tone, “I 
wouldn’t say much to father or Bas about you 
being a surveyor for the company that has 
bought the Wetmore Tract. Of course, it is all 
right with Arizony and me. We like you first 
rate, and we are not prejudiced against that 
company like the Renfros, and father and oth- 
ers. ’ ’ 

This was spoken so that only Arizony could 
hear, aside from Vance, to whom the words 
were addressed. Young Sevier was surprised. 
He had no idea that the work he was going to 
do was objectionable to the settlers upon the 


32 


VANCE SEVIER. 


land in question. Though he had said little or 
nothing as yet about it, his reticence was more 
owing to the fact that he had so enjoyed the 
hunting and fishing during the few days he had 
been there, that he had thought but little of the 
real business that had brought him up into the 
Great Smoky Mountains. 

This was to survey a large tract of mountain 
land, that had recently been sold by the Wet- 
more family to a certain Northern hunting and 
fishing club of rich men, who were intending 
to convert it into a vast game preserve. Many 
thousands of acres were embraced in this sale. 
Here and there, in the narrow valleys and coves, 
a number of mountaineers had been allowed to 
live for years, paying little or no rent and do- 
ing pretty much as they pleased. 

But now all this was to be changed. When 
the survey should be completed, these squatters 
were to be ousted, wire fencing was to be put 
around the great preserve, gamekeepers would 
take charge, and the mountaineers would find 
themselves permanently excluded from a do- 


VANCE SEVIER. 


33 


main which they had used as their own for so 
long that to them custom had made it seem 
theirs. 

For months, rumors of such changes had 
filtered into the cabins of the settlers. To their 
crude conceptions, bounded always by the nar- 
row limits of their immediate surroundings, 
these proceedings savored of outrage and in- 
justice. 

What right had a set of men, living “ Vay 
off,’^ to rob them of their little farms and rude 
homes ? Had not they, and their fathers before 
them, ploughed and hunted, lived and died, 
upon this land for generations? Their dead 
lay there; their children looked forward to the 
same half-iadolent, wholly-free life of the moun- 
tains. 

As it happened, Vance himself was the ad- 
vance picket of this invading enemy. He was 
assistant surveyor, sent ahead by his chief to 
look over the ground, pick out good camping 
spots and amuse himself by hunting, meantime, 
while awaiting the arrival of the main party 
from below. 


34 


VANCE SEVIER. 


TJri’s words for the first time confirmed what 
had been only a vagne snspicion in his mind, 
that if his real business were generally known, 
his reception might not be entirely friendly at 
the hands of his entertainers. 

He responded briefly to Uri and maintained 
so long a silence thereafter that Arizony felt 
a little concerned. 

‘‘Don’t let what Uri says worry you,” she 
whispered, as they followed the hunters down 
the wooded trail towards the Tuggle cabin. ‘ ‘ I 
feel sure you can’t help what these furreign 
folks are doing.” 

To a Southern mountaineer, nearly every one 
from a distance is a “furreigner.” 

“As Uri said,” replied Vance, smiling at the 
term, “lam only a ‘hireling;’ but I guess there 
is no cause for uneasiness. If you think best, 
I will not talk about the survey until my party 
arrive, which will be tomorrow or next day. 
After that—” 

“Hello!” interrupted Bascom Tuggle, who 
was now in the lead. “See that torch? I be- 
lieve Wolf is crossing the river.” 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


35 


A light had suddenly sprung into view, near- 
ly opposite, and the party halted, in order to 
wait for Wolf Renfro, who had evidently light- 
ed a pine knot to enable him to pick his perilous 
way, in the growing twilight, over the Tellico, 
by stepping from rock to rock, with the fierce 
surge of the current roaring at his feet. 

Presently he came up, took a swift survey of 
the party, allowing his gaze to dwell curiously 
upon Vance and the dead deer, then fell in with 
Mr. Tuggle, after saluting all present with a 
general ^^How are ye allP’ 

‘‘You missed that deer, Renfro,’^ observed 
Mr. Tuggle, as they again started. “We found 
no bullet holes in the hide. The river done the 
work. I didnT ’low you was apt to miss such 
a shot as that.” 

“I was too far off; but I let her go, any- 
how. Besides, I have other things to think 
about just now; so will you, when I tell you the 
news.” 

“What’s up! Has Birdwell and his men 
started?” 


36 


VANCE SEVIER. 


^‘Yon bet! Be here to-morrow, or day after 
—sure. We must fix for ’em, Zeb Tuggle.” 

“H-s-s-h! Stranger back there, on my 
mule.” 

‘‘So I seen. Who is he?” 

‘ ‘ Young chap up from Asheville way. Seems 
to want to hunt and fish around, mostly. Didn’t 
think much of him till to-day. He killed a 
pant’er up in the Rymer Gap.” 

“Don’t say! Well, I wouldn’t go too heavy 
on him. I heard down at Smoky Run that Bird- 
well had sent a man out in the mountains to 
look out good camping places and feel our tem- 
per.” 

Zebulon Tuggle made no reply, but seemed 
to be mentally digesting Renfro’s words. As 
these two were at the head of the party, their 
remarks were not heard by the others who fol- 
lowed in single file along the trail. In conse- 
quence of the growing darkness. Wolf Renfro 
still carried his torch. On the left the river 
roared. At the right the mountain side rose 
steeply, with bulging rocks and overhanging 
laurel. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


37 


At last a small stretch of bottom land wid- 
ened out, disclosing an acre or two of cornfield 
with a couple of log cabins in the centre. Three 
half -grown hound pups came out barking, and 
were answered by Louder and the other canines. 
As the dogs fraternized, Mr. Tuggle bade Vance 
enter the larger cabin, where a bright fire blazed 
in the chimney, and several younger children 
were playing. In the smaller cabin Mrs. Tug- 
gle was preparing supper. Uri took the mule 
to the stable. Bascom and Renfro lifted the 
deer into the smoke house, while Vance limped 
into the cabin and sat down by the fire. 

The young fellow vaguely felt that he was 
being somehow neglected. Arizony presently 
came in from the kitchen, ostensibly to ask him 
in to supper. As he was washing his hands 
at the water shelf in the porch she came close 
to his side. 

‘‘I am afraid Wolf has been telling father 
something/’ she whispered. ‘‘But don’t you 
let on. Don’t take no notice of what’s said. 
Uri and I will stand your friends, no matter 
what happens.” 


38 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘^What do you mean, Arizony,” he began, 
but she was off like a flash, making only a cau- 
tionary gesture. 

By the time Vance had made a simple toilet 
and limped into the other cabin, where both 
the cooking and eating of the establishment 
were done, the others had sat down. Usually 
Vance had been waited for, and one of the best 
chairs reserved for his use. But now his place 
at Mr. Tuggle’s right hand was occupied by 
Wolf Renfro, who scrutinized the boy closely 
by the light of the pine knots spluttering in an 
iron basket projecting from the wall. 

Mrs. Tuggle poured the coffee, but did not sit 
down herself. Arizony, holding a torch in one 
hand, carried the various dishes round to each 
hungry man, who shoveled a generous portion 
onto his plate, then proceeded to shovel the same 
into his mouth with rustic assiduity. Baked 
sweet potatoes, hominy, corn-bread, fat bacon 
and dried fried bear meat formed the staples of 
the repast. Bitter, unsweetened coffee, brown 
sorghum molasses and white butter might be 


VANCE SEVIER. 


39 


said to constitute the delicacies. Ravenous ap- 
petites were the rule, though Vance soon began 
to find his own diminish as he noted Wolf’s sus- 
picious glances and the ominous frown on old 
Zeb Tuggle’s brow. He had found a seat at 
the end of a bench beside Uri, who courteously 
made room. 

After the first keenness of hunger was satis- 
fied, conversation began to spring up, though 
mostly carried on by Renfro, Mr. Tuggle and 
Bascom. At last Vance, more from a desire to 
test the reality of his growing suspicions, as to 
the way the others felt towards himself, casual- 
ly made a remark to Bascom concerning the best 
way to cure the panther hide. Bascom made 
no reply. Vance repeated his inquiry. 

“I ain’t concerning myself with your pant’er 
hide,” growled Bas. 

Mr. Tuggle turned his heavy eye full upon 
Vance. 

‘‘Young man,” said he, “what is the name 
of the fellow you are looking for to join you 
here?” 


40 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


‘‘No shenanigan, now!” warned Kenfro, 
harshly. “Because we are on to yonr little 
game, and you are plainly barking up the wrong 
tree.” 

“I don^t know that I exactly understand your 
meaning,” replied Vance, feeling that the final 
moment of explanation had come. 

“Yes, you do,” roared Wolf, rising and bend- 
ing over the table, gesturing vehemently with 
his table knife as he spoke. “I wasn’t certain 
out in the dark. But I know you now. Tuggle 
knows you, too. You can’t impose on him any 
longer.” 

“I have not imposed on any one,” denied 
Vance, stoutly, despite the black looks of the 
three men. “I do not know what right you 
have to talk to me in this style—” 

Here Uri pinched Vance’s leg under the table, 
and he suddenly stopped talking. 

Wolf pounded the table with his knife-handle. 

‘ ‘ Ain ’t your name V ance Sevier 1 Ain ’t you 
a surveyor?” 

“Suppose it is? Suppose I am? What of 
that?” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


41 


‘‘Don’t yon belong to Birdwell’s gang that is 
coming up here to run off the Wetmore tract 
for them pirates as is going to turn the last one 
of us off the land?” 

“Wolf! Wolf!” cried Arizony, anxiously. 
“Remember where you are. We don’t want no 
fighting here.” 

“Fighting!” Wolf’s manner was full of 
scorn, as he reared his bulky frame to its full 
height, and looked down at Vance’s lithe, ac- 
tive, yet certainly less powerful figure. “I 
could lick him with both hands tied. Look here, 
kid. Answer my question.” 

“I certainly do belong to Captain Birdwell’s 
party. Are you the Renfro who claims to be 
the best wrestler in Cherokee County?” 

Vance glanced around, and remembering that 
he was among people who would respect force 
rather than argument, and also feeling that his 
case was desperate, quickly resolved upon an 
equally desperate course. 

Uri again pinched his leg. Renfro smiled; 
but it was not a pleasant smile. 


42 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


Old Tuggle and Bascom began to look sur- 
prised. What was the boy driving at? 

‘‘I not only claim to be, but I am. Ask Zeb 
Tuggle. Injun hug, black-snake lock— any holt 
— durned if I care what!’^ Wolf paused; then, 
struck by an idea, turned again upon Vance. 
^ ^ Confound you ! What is it to you what I am? 
We’re going to fix you up before morning, sure 
as fog f oilers rain on old Wacheesy.” 

^ ‘ Are you ! ” V ance ’s tone was also contemp- 
tuous now. ‘‘Well, suppose you wrestle a fall 
with me beforehand, just to get your courage 
up for serious work. Brag is a good dog, but 
—you know the rest.” 

“Are you plum crazy, boy?” exclaimed old 
Tuggle, fairly amazed, despite his sullen anger 
against Vance. “You’ve shot a pant’er. Ain’t 
that enough for one day?” 

“Wolf will tie one hand and break your 
back,” sneered Bascom. 

For the third time Uri pinched Vance’s leg. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE WRESTLING MATCH. 

The young surveyor calmly regarded his 
probable antagonist. 

Wolf Renfro was tall, large, angular and 
awkward. He had the shoulders of a pugilist, 
the limbs of a dime-museum tail-man, a big, 
frowsy head and an ugly, determined, vindic- 
tive-looking face. 

suppose you back down, thenP’ queried 
Vance, aggravatingly. 

‘‘Back down!’^ shouted the astonished moun- 
taineer. “Here, Zeb; you and Bas light some 
splinters. IT jossle the breath out of one sur- 
veyor before we’re five minutes older—” 

“Be easy on him. Wolf,” cautioned Tuggle. 
“He’s a fool— a plum fool. He’s our enemy, 
but he’s eaten my bread. I don’t want his neck 


43 


44 


VANCE SEVIER. 


broken in a wrassle. Give him the grape-vine 
twist. That’s an easy holt, and don’t jar a 
man so powerful much, providing you let your- 
self fall on him. We must keep him out of the 
way for a few days; but I don’t want the boy 
actually hurt. Birdwell is the responsible one. 
He’s the one we ought to lay for.” 

But both Uri and Arizony now pushed for- 
ward to where their father was lighting a torch 
at the iron basket. 

‘‘Let Vance alone, father,” urged Uri, boldly. 
“It ain’t his fault if he is no match for Wolf 
in a wrestle.” 

“I should think you and father would be 
ashamed, ’ ’ protested the girl, angrily, ‘ ‘ picking 
a quarrel with a man at your own table. Vance 
is a stranger up here, and we ought to treat 
him better than this.” 

“Listen at the young ones!” exclaimed Mr. 
Tuggle, half impatiently. “Did Wolf get up 
this wrassling match I I ’low that when a feller 
says he can down another feller, it are time to 
do something. Come on, Bas. Two torches 
will be enough.” 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


45 


So saying, the old man led the way to the 
back yard, where the earth lay level, hard and 
bare. Wolf and Bascom followed. 

As Vance started, Uri held him back. 

‘‘It is no use you going up against Wolf,” he 
whispered. ‘ ‘ I shall have to take your place. ’ ^ 

“Not much. What do you take me for? 
Look here, Uri— I am not such a gump as you 
all seem to think I am. Do you suppose I would 
challenge Eenfro if I didn’t know how to wres- 
tle?” 

“ Yes ; but you don ’t know W olf . There ain ’t 
a man in these mountains ^?an put his back on 
the ground, unless— it is me. Folks don’t know 
how really strong I am, because— well, because 
I generally take things so easy. Come, Vance; 
I like you. You have taught me many things 
in the last few days, and you kept the old man 
from licking me the other morning for missing 
that wild turkey. You must let me wrestle this 
fall with Wolf.” 

“And be ashamed to hold up my head after- 
ward? No, no! Don’t you see that they 


46 


VANCE SEVIER. 


all down on me since Renfro told them I am one 
of the Wetmore surveyors? I have just got 
to down Wolf, and— By George! hear them 
calling me! Don’t hinder, Uri! Don’t worry, 
Arizony! I will put up a stiff tussle, see if I 
don’t!” 

As Uri and his sister reluctantly gave way, 
old Tuggle’s voice was heard, following that of 
Bascom : 

“ ’Pears to me you’re powerful slow, Vance 
Sevier! Come on! Well, then, if you are go- 
ing to back down, I wouldn’t ’a begun. Dad 
burn it, man! A bit of a hug won’t kill you! 
Come on!” 

“I do believe he’s afraid, father!” jeered 
Bascom. 

But at this instant Vance stepped lightly into 
the torch-lighted triangle formed by the angles 
of the two cabins and an adjacent smokehouse, 
where Wolf was walking about, swinging his 
arms, and otherwise putting himself in shape 
for combat. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


47 


Uri, Arizony, Mrs. Tuggle and the children 
lined themselves up in front of the kitchen; 
Bascom and his father stood at opposite sides, 
holding high their sputtering torches. 

Wolf gave a whoop and swung his long arms 
about. 

‘‘I can throw any man in Cherokee’ County !” 
he cried. ‘Mf any one don’t believe it, let him 
step right into the ring, with his coat off, and 
look out for his backbone. I’m a fighting Ren- 
fro from Tuckaho Cove, raised in the laurel, 
and my muscles made out of cold iron and wild 
bear meat. Wh-o-o-o-p! where’s the infant 
that wants to see me chaw him up with my hands 
tied? Where’s the fool what wants me to lay 
him on his back so he can count the stars? 
Wh-o-o-o-p ! By mighty ; I can whip the day- 
lights out of any two-legged surveyor as puts 
his foot on the Wetmore tract!” 

And so he went on, somewhat to Vance’s 
amusement, notwithstanding his natural con- 
cern for the probable outcome of the affair. - 


48 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Renfro was certainly a formidable-looking 
opponent; but Vance remembered tbe tricks he 
had been taught in Savannah by the athletic 
instructor of a large gymnasium, near the high 
school he had attended there. When he grad- 
uated, not a young fellow in the school was his 
match in adroitness and skill when it came to 
wrestling. 

As he stepped within the range of torchlight, 
old Tuggle noticed that Vance still limped 
slightly, and remembered the partial sprain the 
youth had undergone up in the Rymer Gap. 

^^Look here!^^ said the old hunter, sternly. 
‘^Wliat do you mean a-bantering such a man as 
Wolf Renfro, and you a-limping?’’ 

‘‘Can’t you see he is only bluffing?” broke 
in Bascom. 

Uri pricked up his ears and leaped forward, 
flinging off his coat as he came. 

“Stand back, Vance!” he exclaimed. “I 
clean forgot your ankle. Let me tackle 
Wolf.” 

Renfro had paused froiji his shoutings as old 


VANCE SEVIER. 


49 


Tuggle spoke, and surveyed the two boys se- 
renely. 

‘ ‘ Settle it between you, ’ ’ he said. “I’d ruth- 
er wallup the surveyor, but if he’s lame or 
afraid, any one else will do. Wh-o-o-o-p ! Let 
me get my feelers on some one’s bones! Then 
stand back and hear ’em crack! Wh-o-o-o-p!” 

And so he went on as he resumed his pacing 
to and fro. 

“No, Uri!” responded Vance, as soon as he 
could speak. ^ ‘ My ankle is much better. Stand 
back ! ’ ’ 

Vance removed his own coat, and tightened 
his belt. 

“Why, that fellow doesn’t know the first prin- 
ciple of scientific wrestling. Watch me, and 
note the difference between brute strength and 
a little adroit sleight of hand.” 

Under the excitement of the moment the 
limping had vanished. In Vance’s blue eye 
shone so clear a light of battle that Uri gave 
way. 

“Watch Woolf’s right leg,” he cautioned, in 


50 


VANCE SEVIER. 


a low tone. ‘‘Don’t let him get his grip on the 
small of your back.” 

“Now, you lubberly clown!” called Vance, 
loudly enough to attract Renfro’s attention, 
who was still going through his preliminary 
shoutings, undertaken, it would seem, for the 
purpose of warming himself up to a fighting 
pitch, “I am ready.” 

“Ready, are you!” retorted Wolf. “Well, 
it is high time. I was beginning to think I 
would have to ask Uri to help you out.” 

He advanced slowly toward Vance, his long 
arms hanging, his hands reaching nearly to his 
knees. Under his heavy brows his eyes glared 
with a bull-like fierceness. 

Suddenly he pulled off his coat, and threw 
down his old wool hat. 

“As I am slightly lame, I will wait for you 
to attack,” said Vance, following Wolf’s every 
movement with his eyes. 

“Which shall it be, kid— Injun hug, back holt 
or rough and tumble! Or— will you back 
down before I eat you bodily up!” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


51 


‘‘Come at me any way you please. Only 
watch out for squalls, you boasting lout! Once 
again— ready 1’^ 

Renfro lowered his head. 

“I’m a cyclone, and here I come!” he cried, 
springing upon Vance, with a movement as 
swift as it might have been unexpected, con- 
sidering the usual cumbersomeness that char- 
acterized his motions. 

His long arms shot out and were brought to- 
gether again, but, instead of embracing Vance, 
they sawed the empty air. Vance had ducked, 
leaped lightly aside and turned squarely about. 
How the next ten seconds passed was never 
quite clear to any of the observers. 

Vance was seen to grasp Renfro around the 
neck with one arm, make a lightning-like play 
with his feet and legs, and at the same time do 
something mysterious with his other hand. All 
this with a swiftness resembling the motion of 
a buzz-saw. Then Uri saw Vance sinking, 
sinking, with the great bulk of his adversary on 
top. 


52 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘^Poor Vance!’’ he thought. ‘‘He ought not 
to have— Well, I vow!” 

The cause of this interruption was the sight 
of Wolf Renfro turning a seeming somersault 
directly over Vance Sevier’s back. 

The mountaineer came down with a force 
which, as Mrs. Tuggle afterward averred, 
“fairly shook the yea’th.” 

Before ITri clearly realized what had hap- 
pened, Vance turned, with a smile on his flushed 
face, though he was breathing a little heavily. 

“Hand me my coat, please,” said he. 


CHAPTER V. 

VANCE IN A TIGHT PLACE. 

Wolf Renfro sat up, looked about in a dazed 
way for an instant, then sprang to his feet, ut- 
tering a roar of rage. 

^Ht wan’t fair!’’ he cried. ‘^Why didn’t 
you stand before me I I’ll settle your hash this 
time, sure!” 

Vance threw down his coat again, as Wolf, 
brushing the hair from his eyes, made another 
rush. But the mountaineer, despite his rugged- 
ness, was so shaken by his unexpected fall that 
he moved slowly. 

Uri thrust himself in the way. 

‘‘Enough is enough,” insisted the boy. 
“Vance is lame. He’s thrown you the neatest 
fall I ever saw a big man take from a little one. 
What more do you want?” 


53 


54 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘‘I want to get my paws on him. I ain’t had 
hold of him yet. Out of my way, Uri 1 Do you 
think a mere kid can down me?” 

‘ ‘ He ’s thrown you once, I say, and he ’s lame. 
Tackle him again, and you will tackle us both. ’ ’ 
Uri had seen that Vance, notwithstanding his 
amazingly swift success, .was again limping as 
he had done before dark. But he looked thor- 
oughly game. 

‘‘Let ’em alone, Uri,” interposed Bascom. 
“That weren’t no fair wrassle. Why, you 
couldn’t see how it was done.” 

Vance burst into a laugh. 

“It is all in the quickness,” he explained. 
“Renfro is stronger than I, and I am lame. 
What I did I had to do in an instant. ’ ’ 

“What did you do, lad?” asked the old man. 
“I couldn’t see nothing, except that Wolf 
rushed in, grabbed at you, and then somehow 
keeled square over your head. ’ ’ 

“Looks like he throw ’d himself,” said Bas- 
com. “That being so, I ’low you’d both better 
try it over again.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


55 


“If he threw himself, I made him,’’ answered 
Vance. “But my ankle pains. I guess I 
won’t wrestle any more to-night.” 

“Course you won’t,” confirmed Uri, taking 
Vance’s arm. “Let us go into the house.” 

They turned to the larger cabin, but Renfro 
planted himself in the path. Old Tuggle and 
Bascom were at his back. 

“Wrassle or no wrassle, it wasn’t fair. Let 
me once get my grip on you”— Wolf brandished 
his long arms— “and I can break every bone in 
your body. See here!” 

He grasped V ance by the collar, but immedi- 
ately received a stinging blow from Uri, whose 
unusually patient aspect had so changed that he 
looked as ferocious as a tiger. But old Tuggle 
now intervened. 

“Let up, boys!” he commanded. “I don’t 
believe he throw ’d Wolf fair myself. But it’s 
over and done with, and we’ve other things to 
think about now. Let him alone. Wolf ! Uri,” 
this to his son, with a fierceness that caused Uri 
to shrink back— “Uri, you’re a-taking sides. 


56 


VANCE SEVIER. 


you are. I won’t have it ! Vance himself may 
be all right when he is at home. But he ’s come 
up here, and eat my bread and hunted with my 
dogs and passed himself otf as a friend. Burn 
all such friends, I say!” 

While talking, the party had entered the main 
cabin, where Vance, though given a seat by the 
fire, began to feel that he might be regarded as 
a prisoner. Wolf, seeing Tuggle’s rising an- 
ger, settled back into a chair near the door, feel- 
ing that Vance would be looked after. 

^^How have I proved myself to blame in any 
way 1 ’ ’ asked the young surveyor. ‘ ‘ WTiat have 
I donel” 

^^What has he done?” this sarcastically from 
the old man, who winked at Renfro and Bascom. 
• ‘Next thing he’ll want to know if my name is 
Tuggle.” 

Then turning to Vance: 

“I will tell you what you’ve done. You’ve 
gone and got yourself into a hornet’s nest 
That’s what you done when you come up heto, 
l)assing yourself off as a hunter, and at the 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


57 


same time a-fixing and a-spying round for them 
as will try to turn us out of our homes, whenever 
they get good and ready. I wish Wolf had ’a 
broke your back instead of you nearly breaking 
his ’n. ’ ^ 

^^He didn’t hurt me nary bit,” protested Ren- 
fro, pettishly. Just let me get a fair holt on 
him, and—” 

‘‘We Ve got a fair holt on him,” interrupted 
Zeb Tuggle, vehemently. “I wish we had the 
same grip on old Birdwell and his gang, as this 
chap is standing picket for. But we ’ll get them 
yet. Vance can’t get away. How will they 
know we are a-fixing for themT’ 

“What do you mean, Mr. Tuggle?” asked 
Vance, a little anxiously. 

The old man smiled meaningly. He bent on 
Vance a meditative eye without replying. Then 
he drew Renfro and Bascom aside. 

“I take it your minds are made up as to what 
we had better do?” he queried, in a whisper. 

. “Bet your life!” growled Wolf. “Let us 
make an end of this youngster, then lay for the 


58 


VANCE SEVIER. 


rest of the gang when they come, Bas and me 
can go round and let the boys know.’’ 

hardly think we had better do any more 
than keep the boy safe for the present. If any 
killing is to be done, let all hands take a part. 
You see, killing is serious work. Sometimes the 
law calls it murder.” 

‘^Ding the law!” muttered Renfro. Ain’t 
it what they call the law that is taking our land 
away from us ? Putting one of these chaps out 
of the way, ain’t no worse than ambushing a 
revenue man, is it ! ” 

^‘No, but it is dangerous. Let us go slow. 
You and Bas put out and notify the rest to be 
on hand here by sun-up to-morrow. If Bird- 
well and his men reach here, we can have them 
watched until we get ready to act. Meantime, 
I’ll look out for this kid. He is a sharp one, 
but I say he’ll wish himself out of these moun- 
tains before he gets out.” 

While this consultation was being held, both 
Uri and Arizony had been cheering up Vance 
as best they could, feeling that while danger 


VANCE SEVIER. 


59 


vaguely threatened him, they knew but little 
more than he of its nature, or the manner in 
which it might appear. 

‘‘Be sure of one thing, Vance,’’ whispered 
Uri.” “Arizony and I will stick by you, won’t 
we, sister?” 

“Of course we will. Vance is all right; but 
I don’t like the way father stands in with those 
Renfros.” 

“I never would have thought you could turn 
a man like Wolf such a keel-over,” chuckled 
Uri. “You must be stronger than I; yet you 
don’t look to be. I reckon it was a trick. Eh, 
Vance?” 

“Well, I suppose you might call it that. I’ll 
show you how, some time, and also a lot of other 
cvays to down a big fellow who thinks nothing 
is any good but his own brute strength. If it 
had not been for my ankle, I would have given 
liim another fall— one that would have made 
him see stars.” 

“Go ’long off to bed, Uri— you and Arizony,” 
interposed old Tuggle, again approaching. 


60 


VANCE SEVIER. 


won’t have my children poking about, when 
they ought to be asleep.” 

‘‘What are you going to do, father?” asked 
the boy, firmly. 

“W'ell, we are going to put Vance in the 
smokehouse for a while. I’m going to stand 
guard. Bascom and W^olf are going off on a 
little business. Now get on to bed, before I 
wear you out. Do you hear?” 

Uri was about to make a hasty remonstrance, 
when he caught a meaning look from Arizony. 
He knew that his sister was “sharp,” though 
only a girl, and he felt that she had some plan 
in view that it might be well to know more of. 
The girl, as she turned to leave, passed close to 
Vance, as he sat in his chair. 

“Watch out to-night,” she whispered, so that 
only he could understand ; but Bascom saw her 
lips move, and seized her roughly by the arm. 

“WTiat are you up to now?” he demanded. 

‘ ‘ None of your business, ’ ’ she retorted. ‘ ‘ Let 
me alone.” 

“WThat did you say to Vance?” insisted Bas- 
Rom. ‘ ‘ I saw you whispering. ’ ’ 


VANCE SEVIER. 


61 


‘‘Let the girl go, Bas!’’ ordered the father, 
“Do you suppose we can stop to pester our- 
selves with her nonsense 

Bascom desisted, though his suspicions were 
not quelled. He and Renfro took up their 
rifles and made ready to depart, by preparing 
some long pine torches. 

Meanwhile old Tuggle bade Vance follow 
him, but at the smokehouse door the latter drew 
back. Had his ankle been well, he would have 
attempted to escape by flight; but he felt that, 
in his present plight, he would be quickly over- 
taken. Besides, he did not know the woods, 
and, amid the confusing wilderness around, he 
would have little chance of reaching any known 
point of safety. 

“Mr. Tuggle,” said the boy, “I warn you 
that, by restraining me of my liberty in this 
way, you are endangering your own. The 
law—” 

“To thunder with the law!” exploded the 
hunter. “It is your unjust law that has put us 
mountain folks in such a fix. Don^t talk of law 


62 


VANCE SEVIER. 


to me. The only law we have here now is my 
will. There’s your berth for to-night. Where 
it will be to-morrow night, will depend on them 
as have sent you here, to defraud poor people 
out of their homes and land. In you go.” 

The smokehouse door was opened. Vance 
glanced at the rifle in old Zeb Tuggle’s hand, 
noted his determined countenance, under the 
glare of the torches, then quietly entered. 

As the door was closed and pad-locked, the 
boy heard Wolf Renfro’s scornful laugh echo- 
ing without. 

‘ ‘ Come on, Bas, ’ ’ called Wolf. ‘ ^ One coon is 
treed. By this time to-morrow, we ought to 
have the balance of the rascals.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE ESCAPE. 

Once inside, Vance groped his way to an 
empty corn measure, and sat down, feeling quite 
depressed. He heard old Tuggle, Renfro and 
Bascom utter a few parting words ; then the two 
men went off, the flare of their torches dwin- 
dling in the distance between the chinks of the 
log wall against which he leaned. 

Mr. Tuggle built up a fire in the yard in front 
of the smokehouse, brought out a chair and es- 
tablished himself as sentry, apparently for the, 
night. Mrs. Tuggle and the children had gone 
to bed. So had Arizony and TJri, as far as 
Vance knew. 

Tree toads chirruped gaily of rain to come. 
Owls hooted up the mountain side occasionally, 
and once, far into the night, the long wail of a 


63 


64 


VANCE SEVIER. 


gray wolf— the shyest animal of that region— 
came down the divide from the remote heights 
of the Wacheesa Bald. 

For an hour Vance’s mind dwelt rather solic- 
itously upon the uncertainties of his situation, 
then he began to get drowsy. Finally he fell 
asleep, with his head leaning against the back 
wall of the smokehouse. His weapons and bag- 
gage were in possession of the enemy, so to 
speak, except one small revolver that he had 
carried in his hip pocket since arriving in the 
mountains. 

‘‘Vance! Vance! Oh, Vance!” 

Something sharp pricked the back of his neck 
• as these words impressed themselves upon his 
weakening senses. 

“What is it r’ he whispered. “Don’t punch 
so hard. You hurt ! ’ 

It was Uri. Vance realized it almost before 
he was awake. 

“All right,” continued the voice, in a low 
whisper just back of Vance’s ear, that rested at 
a wide crack between the logs. “I have been 


VANCE SEVIER. 


65 


waiting for father to go to sleep, but he won’t. 
Gets np and walks about when he feels drowsy. 
What had we better doT’ 

‘ ‘ V^at can we do, unless I am able to get out 
of this 1 ’ ’ 

^‘Do you know where I could find your 
party?” 

‘‘VHio? Captain Birdwell and the others?” 

‘^Yes. Where were you to meet them?” 

^‘Either at the head of the old flume on Snow 
Bird Mountain or here. If they don’t find me 
there, they will probably come here.” 

‘WVliich means, that if warning doesn’t reach 
them, they will walk right into the midst of their 
enemies. ’ ’ 

‘ A^'ou see we did not know that we were com- 
ing among enemies, IJri. I can hardly realize 
it yet, though I am locked up.” 

‘‘You will all realize it before long unless 
something is done. By tomorrow morning there 
will be twenty or thirty armed men camping on 
your trail, if Wolf and Bas do what they said 


66 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


they would. How many are there in your 
party!’’ 

Six— Captain Birdwell, two chain bearers, 
two choppers and a negro cook; that is, five be- 
sides me.” 

‘^They must be warned, Vance. I wish I could 
get you out— Stay! there is a short shovel in 
the corner nearest you. The ground falls away 
on this side. Do you think you could dig out 
under the logs if I went round and talked with 
father so as to keep him from noticing!” 

might. But, Uri, I hardly like you to take 
such an active hand helping me. It will only 
enrage your father all the more against you. He 
might— well, he might make it very unpleasant 
for you afterward.” 

There was a short pause before Uri replied, 
and Vance was sure he heard the sound of a 
sigh. .. 

Never mind me, Vance. I can take care of 
myself. They won’t hurt me— much; but you 
—why, your life may be in danger.” 

‘‘It is very good of you, Uri. Suppose—” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


67 


^‘H-s-s-h! Father is stirring. I will slip off. 
Then, when you hear us talking, you begin dig- 
ging. The dirt is soft at this corner, for the 
dogs have tried to scratch in. Indeed, I think 
old Louder has got in once or twice after the 
meat.’^ 

Uri stole away. Presently, Vance heard him 
in a rather loud altercation with his father upon 
the subject of being allowed to stand guard him- 
self. 

Vance found the shovel, and after a few pre- ^ 
liminary thrusts, selected a spot so soft that he 
was able to make good progress without causing 
any noise that might be dangerous. 

The voices at the front increased in volume. 
Vance understood Uri^s purpose. At the risk 
of drawing down upon himself his father’s vio- 
lent wrath, he persisted in wanting to be allowed 
to stand guard, notwithstanding old Tuggle’s 
orders for the boy to ‘^hush up” and go back 
to bed. This was to enable Vance to accomplish 
his task without detection. The young surveyor 
felt his heart warm toward his mountain friend. 


68 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


At this juncture the shovel blade struck 
against a rock, for the first time giving a sharp, 
metallic click. 

What is thatr’ asked Mr. Tuggle, interrupt- 
ing himself in his objurgations against the ob- 
stinacy of his son. ‘^That feller in there is up 
to some mischief. Get back to bed, I tell you! 
If I find you here when I get back. I’ll take a 
hickory and wear you to a frazzle 1 ’ ’ 

While speaking, the old man unlocked the 
door and entered the smoke-house. Uri tren\- 
bled. Suppose his father were to discover what 
Vance was doing! 

Luckily, the hunter did not take time to light 
a torch. 

The boy dared not remain, as from the height 
of anger to which Mr. Tuggle had been drawn, 
Uri knew that he would make his last threat 
good if upon his return he found his son still 
there. Uri did not much fear the beating, but 
he feared still more, that, if he remained, some 
unfavorable result to Vance might ensue in 
some way. He therefore withdrew towards the 


VANCE SEVIER. 


69 


cabin, while the sound of angry voices coming 
from inside the smokehouse tortured his ears 
with a sense of uncertainty. 

A moving shadow emerged from behind the 
chimney as he drew near the door. It was Ari- 
zony, with a sunbonnet on and a shawl round 
her shoulders. She grasped Uri with trembling 
hands. 

‘^Oh, Uri! Do you think father will hurt 
himT’ 

^ ‘ I hope not. Did you bring out the things ? ^ ’ 
‘^Yes. There are the two guns, yours and 
Vaneevs, and the cartridges, and the haversack 
of provisions I hooked from the kitchen after 
mother went to bed—’’ 

‘^Plark ! I do believe they are fighting. Come 
on. We mustn ’t let father harm Vance. ’ ’ 

They ran forward recklessly toward the 
smokehouse, from which came sounds of a scuf- 
fle, mingled with sundry explosive remarks 
from old man Tuggle. A figure leaped out of 
the door, and turning closed it with a bang. 

In the meantime, when Vance heard Mr. Tug- 


70 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


gle’s exclamation, and realized that he had 
made too much noise in his hnrried efforts to 
dig out, he halted in his work and stood listen- 
ing, with his heart in his throat. The old man 
fumbled at the padlock with the key. 

^ ^ He is coming, ’ ’ thought V ance. ‘ ‘ What shall 
I do? Like as not, if he sees what I have done 
he will want to tie me hand and foot. Great 
Caesar ! What a fix I am in ! ’ ’ 

Wlien Tuggle finally entered, Vance had re- 
placed the shovel in its corner, and was stand- 
ing irresolutely, hardly knowing what to do or 
say. He had placed the corn measure before the 
hole he had dug, but the fresh earth was still 
exposed. Luckily, the firelight penetrated dimly, 
and the old man’s eyes not being very keen at 
night, he did not notice at first anything wrong 
beyond Vance’s disturbed attitude. 

‘^WTiat are you up to, eh?” demanded the 
hunter, roughly. ‘ ‘ Step out here ! Let me take 
a look at you!” 

‘Hf you want to look at me come in. Cast 


VANCE SEVIER. 


71 


your eyes around. Do as you please; you are 
the boss, I suppose. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Come out into the light, I say, or I will yank 
you out!’’ 

‘^Yank away,” said Vance, with the reckless- 
ness born of desperation. ‘‘Think I am going 
to help?” 

Zeb Tuggle, with an angry snort, made a 
grasp at Vance, who dodged. Threats and ob- 
jurgations followed from the old man, who, in 
his efforts to catch the youth and at the same 
time prevent his reaching the door, finally stum- 
bled over the corn measure. By this time his 
eyes had grown accustomed to the half gloom 
of the interior, and he saw the pile of fresh 
earth. 

He stopped raving and bent down, regardless 
for the instant of his prisoner under the shock 
of this new surprise. 

Vance saw his opportunity and used it at 
once. The old man’s back was for a moment 
turned toward the boy, who gave his jailer a 
vigorous push that sent him headforemost into 
the corner. 


72 


VANCE SEVIER. 


In a twinkling the young surveyor was out- 
side the door. At first he had intended only 
blind, instant flight; but his eye happened to 
fall upon the large padlock hanging from a 
short chain, and he noticed that the key was in 
the lock. It had been left there by Tuggle in his 
hurry. 

Vance changed his mode of procedure by 
stopping long enough to close the door, push the 
long hasp over the staple, then thrust the shank 
of the padlock through this last, thus fastening 
the old man inside without the trouble of turn- 
ing the key. As he finished his task, Arizony 
and Uri came up. 

‘ ‘Oh, how dreadful ! ’ ’ exclaimed the girl. ‘ ‘ Is 
that you, Vance? 

A roar from within now put an end to further 
conversation between the three for the time be- 
ing. 

“Open that door!’’ shouted Tuggle, after an 
ineffectual attempt to release himself. “Of all 
the durned, impudent proceedings this beats the 
world. That you, Uri?” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


73 


Uri said nothing; Arizony held her breath. 
Vance felt like*' laughing as the old man 
pounded, kicked and fairly howled with anger. 

‘^You^re out there, you and Arizony!” he 
shouted. see you through the cracks; and 
you, too, you Vance. Better open up while 
times are easy. ’ ’ 

‘‘Father,” replied Uri, at length, “you know 
I cannot open the door unless you promise to 
let Vance go. Vance is my friend.” 

“Ain’t I your father? Do you mean to say 
that a week’s acquaintance is more to you than 
your own daddy? Better open up, son, or I 
won’t leave a whole bone in your body, when I 
do get out.” 

“Come this way, both of you,” said Vance, 
drawing them aside, while the old man contin- 
ued to kick the door and shout. “He will have 
your mother up in a minute. I see you have my 
gun and some things. Give me fifty yards start, 
then open the door. ’ ’ 

“Oh, Vance!” said Arizony. “I wish we 
knew what to do.’ 


74 


VANCE SEVIER. 


She was trembling and excited, while her 
glances darted from the smokehouse to the 
cabin, as her father’s fierce threats shook the 
air. Uri stood irresolute for a moment. The 
door of the cabin quickly opened and Mrs. Tug- 
gle appeared, rubbing her eyes with one hand 
and holding ‘ ‘ Old Rabe ’ ’ in the other. 

‘‘Come on, Vance!” cried Uri, picking up his 
own gun, as if he had suddenly made up his 
mind. “I’m going with you.” 

“No, you must not. It’s very good of you. 
But you must not make an enemy of your 
father, just to please me.” 

“Father doesn’t like me. He’d thrash me, 
anyhow, for not letting him out at first. Come 
on! You, too, Arizony. I want to speak to 
you.” 

He dragged Vance aside, his sister following. 

“Arizony,” whispered Uri, “you must stay 
here and watch things. Vance doesn’t know the 
woods. But you— If anything occurs that we 
ought to know, slip off and come to us, either at 
my den or at Head Man’s Trap, on Snow Bird. 
Bring some grub, too. See?” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


75 


Vance and he had picked up their things. 
Mrs. Tuggle was advancing towards the smoke- 
house, calling, in a not very gentle tone of voice : 

‘‘Yes, father, I am a-coming. DonT make 
such a everlasting fuss ! ’ ^ 

She had not seen the others, for Uri was care- 
ful to draw his sister and Vance, as well as him- 
self, into the deepest shadow. Arizony hurst 
into tears. 

“I wish I could go along, too,^^ she faltered. 
“Father is so cross. 

“You stand it as long as you can, Arizony,^’ 
answered Uri, squeezing her hand. “Find out 
what they are going to do. If Birdwell comes, 
let him know where we are.’^ 

“Good-by, Arizony,^’ was all Vance had time 
to say; for at this juncture Mrs. Tuggle arrived 
at the smokehouse door. 

The hoys dashed off towards the forest. Ari- 
zony fled into the house. In another minute old 
Zeb Tuggle emerged from the smokehouse, rag- 
ing and fuming like a wild beast. 


CHAPTER VII. 


TAKING TO THE WOODS. 

In the flight that followed, Uri took the lead, 
being more familiar with the woods and 
mountains. Indeed, as soon as the fire-light was 
left behind and the field crossed, Vance felt his 
own helplessness. 

should not know which way to turn in the 
darkness at al],^^ he said, as the roar of the river 
drew nearer. ^^Are you going to cross?’’ 

^‘Yes. I must fix on some plan to throw off 
the dogs,” replied Uri. ‘^Father will be sure 
to put Louder on my track.” 

‘‘Will he trail a man?” 

“He will trail any of us home folks. You see, 
when he gets off from us in the woods, he will 
follow up our tracks.” 

“Goodness! How dark it is! I suppose it 

76 


VANCE SEVIER. 


77 


would never do to strike a light and hunt a 
torch. ’ ^ 

‘^Not on your life. Don’t you hear them! 
Understand what that means?” 

Loud shoutings, mingled with howls from the 
hounds, began to float through the darkness to 
their ears. But the noise of rushing waters was 
gradually interfering with all other sounds. 

‘ ^ I suppose it means that Mr. Tuggle is turn- 
ing the dogs loose.” 

‘‘Right you are. They are circling around 
the house now. Presently Louder will strike 
our trail ; then you will hear him tell it— Ah ! 
Hear that, V ance ? ’ ’ 

The confusion and indecisive whinings gave 
way to a long-drawn, bell-like note that quav- 
ered from clitf to cliff most lugubriously. A 
series of quick, sharp yelps followed, though the 
river mingled curiously with the sounds, as the 
fugitives halted at the edge of a dark pool just 
beyond the flank of a water-fall roaring among 
the mid-channel rocks farther out. 

“Are you pretty sure-footed in the dark?” 
asked Uri. 


78 


VANCE SEVIER. 


“If I know where to put my foot, yes. Go 
on. I will follow wherever you dare to lead.’’ 

Uri boldly entered the water, without rolling 
up his trousers or taking off his shoes. 

“We’ll have to get wet,” he said. “But 
wrapping up afterward will prevent our being 
cold, I think.” 

The pool had only a mild eddy at its shore for 
a current. The water felt cold to Vance as it • 
filled his hunting shoes and rose up on his legs. 

For some distance they waded, while the roar 
of the main current grew nearer. Deeper grew 
the water. First their knees and finally their 
waists became submerged. They had to hold up 
their guns and provisions and take off their 
cartridge belts. 

A sort of undertow began to tug at their feet. 
Great rocks, around which the river boiled and 
surged, rose high above them. Once Vance 
slipped. Gradually he became aware that Uri 
was picking his way somehow along a sort of 
rocky backbone of river bottom that led— 
where? Vance did not know, for the darkness 


VANCE SEVIEB. 


79 


was too great to see any distance. As he floun- 
dered precariously in Uri^s wake, he could not 
but admire the mountain boy’s marvelous acu- 
men in selecting his course. 

Vance knew the world, and he thought him- 
self something of a hunter, but he now felt his 
own inferiority in the presence of a sylvan intu- 
ition such as belongs to those alone wt.o are the 
real children of the forest, born and nurtured 
by nature in her secluded wilds. 

And now the gloom, if possible, became 
deeper. Spray filled the air. Vance, though he 
could see nothing, was conscious of a pounding, 
roaring crystal sheet that was shutting them out 
from the trees and stars. 

‘‘Are we under some falls'?” asked the young 
surveyor. “Does this under current grow any 
stronger 1 ’ 

But Uri did not seem to hear. The noise of 
falling waters was too great. Vance thought 
of the Cave of the Winds at Niagara, and fan- 
cied that this might furnish a sort of miniature 
resemblance to that celebrated shower-bath. If 


80 


VANCE SEVIER. 


they could only see just a little. He grasped 
Uri’s coat-tail, and again wondered how any 
human being could find his way in this manner 
amid a path apparently so bordered by danger 
and obscurity. 

Suddenly Uri stopped. Vance plumped up 
against him, and the two boys grasped each 
other, as the swift current tugged at their legs. 
A light could be seen, apparently between some 
rocks ahead. By the faint reflection from this, 
Vance saw a curving screen of green water fall- 
ing over their heads into a chasm at their right, 
which seemed so near that he shuddered as he 
thought of their groping in the dark along a 
ledge lying so close to so forbidding a brink. 

‘‘Some one is coming,’^ warned Uri. “We 
must get out of this. Don’t let go of me.” 

He hastened his footsteps so that both were 
soon puffing with exertion as they struggled 
through waist-deep water. At last they emerged 
from under the falls, and by the nearing light 
Vance saw that the bank was close at hand. 

A party of men was descending the mountain 


VANCE SEVIER. 


81 


side. But, instead of crossing the river, they 
turned up the bank. 

From behind a projecting rock, they saw nine 
armed mountaineers pass on toward an upper 
ford opposite the Tuggle clearing. Knee-deep 
in water, the shivering boys noted the grim, de- 
termined look on the lank, mountain faces. 
These were doubtless the first of the settlers 
aroused by Renfro and Bascom Tuggle. 

‘‘Our yard will he full in the morning,’’ said 
Uri. “But we are not out of the woods yet. 
Listen ! ” 

They were under the river-bank now, and, 
from the side they had just left, the baying of 
the dogs could be plainly heard. 

The party with the torch appeared to be puz- 
zled at the sound, and held a brief consulta- 
tion before passing out of view. 

“They are wondering what is up at home,” 
said Uri. “There they will go, and, when they 
find out that we have run away, we will have 
ten men after us instead of one. Come on ! Now 
our fun begins.” 


82 


VANCE SEVIER. 


To the surprise of Vance, instead of climbing 
the bank and continuing their flight by land, Uri 
turned down the stream, keeping, however, as 
close as possible to the shore. 

Their progress was difficult, not only by 
reason of the irregular depth and constant chill 
of the water, but from the uneven and stony na- 
ture of the bottom. 

Vaneevs lame ankle began again to trouble 
him, especially when they had to climb over and 
across certain large rocks that bulged from the 
bank, some of which they could not wade 
around. 

‘^What is all this for?’’ at length asked 
Vance, as a severe twinge added its torture to 
the intensity of his exertions. 

‘^Dogs,” responded Uri. Don’t you hear 
them nosing up and down the other bank? There 
comes father with a torch. You see, he will 
soon find where we crossed. He may bring over 
the dogs, and, if we were to take to the land, ^ 
old Louder would have us dead sure.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


83 


‘^Are we to travel in the water this way all 
night 

Something in the repression . of Vance’s tone 
suggested pain to Uri. He seized the' other’s 
hand, pressed it warmly, at the same time 
searching for the pulse. 

‘‘Well, there!” exclaimed Uri, impulsively. 
“I forgot that you are lame. Here! Take my 
gun. We have only thirty or forty yards to 
go.” 

As Vance mechanically' took Uri’s rifle, the 
latter caught his friend up in his arms with a 
strength truly surprising. 

“Hold on!” cried Vance. “I can’t stand 
that.” 

“Yes, you must. Here we are. I ain’t quite 
as much on a wrestle perhaps as compared with 
you, but when it comes to mere strength I won’t 
knock under to any one around here, if I am 
only seventeen.” 

Holding Vance high in his arms, together 
with the guns and provisions, Uri waded be- 
tween two immense boulders, around whose base 


84 


VANCE SEVIER. 


the water ran swiftly, keeping his footing well 
and evincing a strength and endurance truly 
remarkable. 

So great was the relief thus a:fforded him, 
Vance ceased to protest. All at once something 
struck him in the face. At the same time Uri 
stopped, and, putting Vance down, bgan to feel 
about with his hands. 

^ ‘ It ought to be here, ^ ’ he said to himself. 

^^What ought to be here?” asked Vance. 

‘‘My grapevine ladder. I went up it only 
last week.” 

“Reach a little higher. Something hit me 
just before-- Ah! is not this it?” 

“Sure enough, it is. Now, have you slung 
your gun and haversack? Well, take right hold. 
Don’t be afraid; it will not break.” 

Before he was fairly aware of it, Vance found 
himself ascending a knotted and twisted ladder 
of vines, in total darkness, with Uri and the 
river below and unknown spaces above. Yet 
he did not fear. Already his confidence in tJri’s 
strength and woodcraft were almost unlimited. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


85 


^‘Keep on/^ directed the latter, who was close 
behind. ^‘You will come to where a log rests 
upon the rock. Crawl off there. It is safe.^^ 

After going perhaps twenty feet, Vance felt 
the log, which seemed to extend across a chasm 
to some unseen support at the farther end. To 
his right he found a level platform of solid rock. 
He rested here while IJri, who was close by, 
passed him and led the way, taking Vance by 
the hand. A match was struck, Uri taking it 
from inside his hat-band, and a small piece of 
candle was lighted that had also been brought 
along. 

‘ ‘ I always carry matches in my hatband, ^ ^ re- 
marked the mountain lad. ‘ ‘ I brought this can- 
dle, because I thought we might fetch up here, 
or in some cave.^^ 

They were in a narrow, low aperture, that 
appeared to be formed by the juncture of the 
concave sides of two immense rocks rising from 
the river bed. 

Through a half-open seam at their feet came 
up the water’s roar, and between a somewhat 


86 


VANCE SEVIER. 


wider opening above Vance bad seen the twin- 
kle of stars before the lighting of the candle. 
But a space some six or more feet wide was 
flattened out by nature, one end of it being com- 
paratively closed by the overlapping of one rock 
beyond the other. 

^‘AVhy, this is a regular den,’’ said Vance. 
‘^Some one has been here before— lived here, I 
should say.” 

‘‘Well, rather! This is my den, where I go 
when father and Bas tire me out, or I have a 
spell of the sulks. That is the reason you see all 
these flxings here.” 

A couple of old quilts were piled at one side. 
A fishing-line, an old hatchet, two tin cans, a 
coffee pot, a frying-pan, a wooden box with a 
lid, several pieces of jerked or dried beef and a 
‘ ‘ side ’ ’ of bacon were in sight. The meat hung 
from a stick overhead. 

TJri opened the box and disclosed a knife and 
fork, a tin plate and cup and a bag of ground 
coffee, besides other unimportant articles. 

“I did not know you had such a hide-out as 



“If I were you, I wouldn’t say much to father or Bas 
about being a surveyor.” 


(Page 31) 




VANCE SEVIER. 


87 


this to retire into/’ said Vance. ‘‘There is 
wood in the corner. Well, well! It certainly 
comes handy now.” 

“No one knows of the place but Arizony. I 
found it one day by accident. The dogs can’t 
trail us here through the water. To reach the 
place by land one would have to go a mile 
around. You will see how it is in the morning.” 

A louder baying of the hounds from the oppo- 
site bank caused Uri to blow out the candle. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

UEI’S DEN. 

‘‘What did you do that forT’ asked Vance. 

“ As a matter of precaution. The dogs have 
arrived at the spot where we took to the river, 
and crossed under the falls.’’ 

“Don’t you suppose your father will suspect 
that we have crossed?” 

“I don’t think father knows of that fording- 
place. Neither he nor Bas pay much attention 
to the river, except to cross here and there on 
the rocks. I love it, and am always prowling 
about it. I found, when in swimming, that one 
could cross under the falls. Listen ! Those men 
have joined father. Don’t you hear their 
voices ? ’ ’ 

The hoys were more than a quarter of a mile 
away from the searchers, yet the sounds of men 


88 


VANCE SEVIER. 


89 


and dogs were clearly audible above the noise 
of running waters. 

The den was hardly a mile from the house 
and clearing. 

‘AVell, let us make ourselves as comfortable 
as we can,’’ said Uri. ^^We cannot have a fire, 
but we can wrap ourselves in these quilts.” 

‘‘Are we going to remain here long?” 

“On reflection, I think we had best stay here 
until tomorrow morning; perhaps until tomor- 
row night. They won’t find us, if we are care- 
ful.” 

“VTiy stay? I thought we were to make for 
Snow Bird Mountain. ’ ’ 

“So we will; but first, had we not better re- 
main here to see if some news cannot be had of 
Captain Birdwell? You said he might come this 
way, in order to take you up. ’ ’ 

“I believe you are right. We ought to put 
him on his guard as soon as possible. ’ ’ 

“Sol thought. Arizony will let us know. She 
"will be apt to come here first, for I told her be- 
fore you escaped that we might stop here for 
the night, in case we got away.” 


90 


VANCE SEVIER. 


^ ^ Then you intended to go with me, all along ? 
This is very good and unselfish of you, my 
friend.’^ 

‘‘I donT know about the unselfishness, Vance. 
For years I have been dissatisfied with our life 
here. Father and Bas donT care. It suits them, 
and they think I am a fool to bother myself 
about books and an education. When you came 
I took to you at once. For the last two or three 
days I have asked myself whether you might 
not be able to put me in the way of making a 
living down in the world below. 

Vance meditated upon Uri^s suggestion, 
which the mountain boy had put forth rather 
hesitatingly, as if he feared that what he de- 
sired might be more than it would be right to 
ask of mere friendship. 

Both boys were seated side by side, well 
wrapped up in the quilts. Wliile the young sur- 
veyor pondered, his hand happened to fall upon 
Uri’s. The two hands clasped each other, and 
their spirits were warmed and cheered by this 
silent manifestation of mutual liking. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


91 


‘‘When father, through Wolf Renfro, found 
you out, I saw how things were going,’’ con- 
tinued CJri. “I made up my mind to stick to 
you, then, if anything turned up, that I could 
go away from here with you. I felt that, if 
I had been of some service to you, my going 
would be less of an imposition. ’ ’ 

“Imposition!” Vance remonstrated. “You 
are doing more for me right now, I fear, than 
I will be able to do for you. You see, my folks 
were once well otf, but now we are poor. My 
father is dead. I am the oldest son, and what 
little I make surveying goes to help the home 
folks make a living. True, we have expecta- 
tions. There is an old Spanish grant in Okeefe- 
noke— But you would hardly understand. 
VTiat I meant is, we have a claim on a large 
tract of land, if we can get it fixed right in court. 
The lumber on it alone is worth thousands. 
But meanwhile my mother and the two younger 
children live in an old plantation house in South 
Georgia, and manage to live, in a sort of genteel 
way, by being careful to waste nothing. So you 


92 


VANCE SEVIER. 


see I don’t have much money or influence to help 
any one— nothing but good will. As far as that 
goes, you are welcome to the best I can do for 
you.” 

‘‘It is not aid so much as a friend that I need. 
I have tried to give myself some book knowl- 
edge, but I want to learn some good trade or 
profession, that will enable me to hold my own 
among —well, among such folks as most of you 
who come up here from below to hunt, fish and 
have a good time.” 

“I have noticed that you talk well, Uri, and 
that you have ideas beyond the other boys up 
here. ’ ’ 

IJri scratched another match and pointed to 
a small shelf in an obscure corner on which were 
piled some old books and magazines. 

“I have to keep them out here because the 
sight of them makes father mad. He despises 
book learning. If it wasn’t for mother, we chil- 
dren wouldn’t have been allowed to go to the 
two months’ free school they have every fall at 
Cranch’s Store, five miles down the river. But 


VANCE SEVIER. 


93 


she insisted that we be allowed to learn to read 
and write. Bas didn’t care much. Arizony 
learned more to please me than anything else. 
I went for four years every fall, until I got so 
big father said he needed me to work all the 
time. But I had got a good taste and I Ve kept 
it up. Sometimes hunters, stopping here, would 
give me a magazine or some papers. I saved 
up and bought most of those books.” 

‘‘What are they?” 

‘ ‘ I don ’t suppose you would care much about 
them”— this rather shame-facedly. “In buying 
books the only guides I had to go by were what 
I had learned at school and through talking with 
folks. Teacher said for me to get Shakespeare, 
‘Robinson Crusoe,’ a United States history, and 
a good geography. He gave me two or three 
novels and a copy of Longfellow’s poems.” 

‘ ‘ Good for him ! He could hardly have made 
a better selection under the circumstances, un- 
less he threw in the ‘Arabian Nights.’ ” 

“I have that, and also the ‘Pilgrim’s Pro- 
gress,’ ‘Plutarch’s Lives,’ ‘Tom Brown at 


94 . 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


Eugby,’ ‘East Lynne,’ and a lot of detective 
stories that puzzle me very much, for I don’t 
know anything about city life. Then, as I said, 
there are magazines and some love stories that 
I don’t care much about. Arizony has read one. 
or two. She says they are just splendid.” 

“Girls generally think that way. Well, Uri, 
I see that you have dabbled in learning and lit- 
erature just enough to make you want to wade 
in deeper. Then, living all your life right here, 
many things you have read about must seem 
queer and mysterious. But the more you really 
learn, the further you see ahead, the more you 
will feel that way. All that changes is the de- 
gree. If we get out of this scrape all right, you 
shall go with me. I think it is likely that I can 
secure you immediate employment as chain- 
bearer or helper of some kind. ’ ’ 

“Won’t that be fine! Oh, Vance, if I onl^ 
can have a chance of that kind.” 

“To be sure you will. Then when we get 
down into my country you can live with me. We 
have a great, old-fashioned room filled with old- 
fashioned books— hundreds of them, Uri.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


95 


To Uri’s ecstatic vision a whole 
room filled with precious books was suggestive 
of Paradise. ‘‘I should like that.’’ 

‘‘Well, you can have it all to yourself, for no 
one hardly ever enters the library at our house,- 
unless to write an occasional letter.” 

“If you feel as I do, I know you would spend 
lots of time there. But I suppose you are used 
to many books. Then one doesn’t always have 
the time ; one must work. But I tell you what, 
Vance, if I had a chance at those books, I would 
sit up all night rather than miss an hour ’s read- 
ing. But I’m getting tired. Suppose we try 
and sleep a little. ’ ’ 

Outside the noise of dogs and men had gradu- 
ally subsided. Evidently old man Tuggle and. 
his friends had given over the chase, at least 
for the night. 

Vance felt cramped as well as damp. While 
talking, he had caught himself nodding at times ; 
so the boys curled down under the quilts, after 
removing their shoes, and were soon asleep. 

When young Sevier awoke, Uri was drawing 


96 


VANCE SEVIER. 


one of the qnilts off. The candle had been 
lighted, and he wanted to hang up a screen to 
prevent any possibility of their light being seen. 
It was still dark. 

‘^It’s ’most day, though,” said Uri; ^‘I feel it 
in my bones. We will 'make some coffee, eat a 
bite, then be ready for whatever turns up. My ! 
ain ’t you hungry ? ’ ’ 

Vance was, of course. Uri kindled a small 
fire, lowered one of the tin cans to the river by 
means of a cord, drew it up full of water and 
soon had the coffee made. 

Some of the bacon was fried, and, from the 
provisions brought from the house, bread and 
cold boiled potatoes were produced. 

The two made a hearty meal. By the time Uri 
had washed and put away the dishes, day was 
breaking far up over the near-by mountain-tops, 
turning the darkness into brightening gray. 

The candle and fire were extinguished. 
Vance, looking forth, saw a long, white pine tree 
trunk extended from the rocks to a point high 
up on the river-bank, that was here a series of 


VANCE SEVIER. 


97 


irregular cliffs, extending far down the stream. 
Above they appeared to bend around the side of 
a deep gorge that debouched upon the Tellico 
not far away. 

As the light increased, Vance conld see that 
these cliffs were inaccessible from below. To 
reach the pine that formed the only landward 
connection with the mid-river eerie upon the 
rock, one would have to go to either end of this 
line of clitfs, a distance by no means inconsid- 
erable, as the young surveyor could see. 

‘‘Well, what next?^’ he asked, at length. 

“Wait for Arizony,” replied TJri. “That 
girl knows jnst what we want to find out, and 
she won’t look for ns until she gets good and 
ready. No use for her to come unless she has 
something to tell. ’ ’ 

“I believe you are right, but it will be tire- 
some waiting here doing nothing. Look, Uri. 
Can it be possible we waded along there last 
night r’ 

Vance pointed below. 

To the shore line from the rocks they were on 


98 


VANCE SEVIER. 


was perhaps fifty feet, but numerous boulders 
lay scattered here and there, interrupting and 
agitating the swift current, that now looked 
quite turbid and moved with exceeding velocity 
and power. 

^‘River’s gone up,’’ said Uri. ‘‘That means 
it rained heavily up on the big mountains with- 
in the last twenty hours. Yes, we waded down 
there, but the water was then hardly half as 
deep as now. There will be no reaching us now 
by water. How is your ankle?” 

“Almost well. I think the wetting did it good. 
When I drew on my shoe, I hardly noticed the 
sprain. ’ ’ 

By this time the first sunbeam shot downward 
from the eastern heights and touched the top 
of the clitf beyond the farther end of the great' 
pine log. 

Vance, looking impatiently out, saw the! 
golden invasion, and, his eye traveling upward,! 
was arrested by the sight of a man’s figure, 
standing motionless on the brow of the olitf. 


CHAPTER IX. 


MR. MARTEL. 

At the same instant a barking of dogs was 
heard from the distant clearing. 

‘‘Look, Uri!’’ exclaimed Vance. “Who can 
that be?’^ 

Uri’s first move was to pull Vance quickly 
back out of sight. 

To the surprise of both boys, the strange man 
brought the gun he carried to a level, and point- 
ing it towards a rock, seemed to be taking aim. 

“Is he going to shoot at usT’ cried Vance. 

At this point they saw a girlish form appear 
beside the man, and the gun was lowered. The 
girl then waved her hand at the boys, though 
they were still concealed. 

“Arizony,’^ said Uri. “Didn’t I tell you she 
would come?” 


LofC. 


99 


100 


VANCE SEVIER. 


So saying, he emerged from the den, and also 
waved his hand. Vance came out. Arizony 
beckoned to them to come up to where she and 
the man were standing, as it would be easier 
than for them to go down. 

‘‘It is all right,’’ she called. “I have some 
news for you. ’ ’ 

“Let us go—” began Vance, when the girl 
spoke again. 

“Bring all your things,” she added. “You 
won’t have time to go back there again.” 

“Something has happened,” said Uri, wav- 
ing to her that they would obey. ‘ ‘ Arizony gen- 
erally knows what she is about.” 

The two busied themselves in gathering to- 
gether such necessaries as they thought best to 
take along, such as matches, ammunition, eata- 
bles and their weapons, of course. Then Uri be- 
gan to crawl up the log, which lay at a rather 
steep angle. Vance followed. For fifty feet or 
more they worked themselves along, directly 
over the raging stream, until the top of the cliff 
was reached. 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


101 


Vance found that he was on the spur of a 
mountain, heavily wooded, that sank for a short 
ways, then rose gradually until lost in the leafy 
distance. 

The stranger greeted both boys in a friendly 
manner. He was an ordinary-looking, medium- 
sized man, with a well-trimmed beard, and keen, 
active eyes. His hair was slightly gray and his 
costume that of a well-to-do city sportsman, at- 
tired for a wild-woods outing. He carried one 
of the latest style of repeating rifles and had the 
general aspect of a man of means and station. 

‘^Glad to meet you, boys,’’ he said, frankly 
otfering his hand. ‘‘My guide disappointed me, 
and, in undertaking to pilot myself, I got lost 
yesterday afternoon. This young lady was good 
enough to find me about five minutes ago.” 

“He wants me to take him home,” said Ari- 
zony, dubiously. ‘ ‘ But I think it will hardly be 
safe for a town man, such as he is, to be at our 
house just now. That is what I have been tell- 
ing him.’” 

‘ ‘ Well, hardly, ’ ’ replied Uri. ‘ ‘ If they would 


102 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


run Vance and me off, they won’t want to be 
friendly with such a looking gentleman as you. ’ ’ 

^‘What is the mater with me?” asked the man 
half jocularly. ^‘This girl I think, was about to 
explain, when I raised my gun to shoot at a 
pheasant, on top of the singular-looking rock 
you came from. She interrupted herself to pull 
down my gun. Seeing you come out, I quite 
acquiesced in her act, though I should like to 
have got that pheasant for breakfast.” 

‘'If you have laid out all night, you won’t 
mind a cold bite, I reckin,” responded Uri, 
drawing forth some corn bread and bacon from 
his haversack. “If you go on with us I will 
presently tell you why it would probably be 
dangerous for you to go to our house just now.” 

“Is yonder your own home?” questioned the 
man. 

Uri nodded as he stepped aside with Arizony, 
who appeared to be both anxious and hurried. 

“What is it? Where are father and his 
friends ? ” he asked in a low tone. 

“All the Catchings’ and the Jones’ came last 


VANCE SEVIER. 


103 


night. They helped to hunt for you, but when 
they came back saying that the dogs lost your 
trail at the river, I felt sure you and Vance had 
come here. Early this morning some more men 
came in. There ^s thirty at our house now. 
Wolf came in just before I left, and brought 
word that BirdwelEs party camped at Maple 
Springs last night, and that they were on the 
way to Snow Bird. ’ ’ 

‘‘Then they wonT come here,’’ said Uri 
quickly. 

“No. But our people are going to lay for 
them at Wild Cat Ford. Don’t you see? They 
will go right into Dead Man’s trap. Our folks 
will close in behind, and there will be no get- 
ting away for them at all. Father and some of 
the men are in a fearful rage. They suspect 
me. I may be watched right now, but I just 
would come. That is the reason I want you 
both to get away from here at once. Take that 
man along. He is some big town chap, I reckon, 
but he is not safe here, whoever he is, if our 
folks run up on him in their present temper.” 

“Where did you find him, Arizony?” 


104 


VANCE SEVIER. 


was lying down beside a log near the 
lower spring. He offered me ten dollars for 
some breakfast and if I would take him to some 
house. I had to bring him along, and I tried to 
explain how things are, but I don’t think he 
believes me. Now I must go.” 

Uri kissed his sister, told her she was a brave 
girl, and to keep up a good heart, and that he 
would never desert her, no matter what hap- 
pened. 

Vance, seeing Arizony about to leave, ran for- 
ward, thanked her for coming, and bade her not 
worry— that all would yet come out right, and 
that he and Uri could take care of themselves. 

“Then you and he won’t go clear off and 
leave me in the mountains U’ she asked, rather 
timidly. 

“No. How could you think it?” said Vance. 

“I hardly thought you would ; but I must go. ’ ’ 
She interrupted herself hurriedly. ‘ ‘ They may 
wonder where I am . Good-by ! ’ ’ 

She was off down a side ridge that led round 
cliffs. Vance was sure she must have traveled 


VANCE SEVIER. 


105 


at least two miles in order to reach their refuge 
by the devious route it was necessary to take. 

Uri now hurried Vance away, bluntly telling 
the stranger that they had to leave that vicinity 
as soon as possible. 

So the three set off up the ridge, the stranger 
devouring his corn bread and bacon ravenously, 
for he was fearfully hungry. At first he tried to 
induce the boys to pilot him to the nearest 
house, notwithstanding the vague hints as to 
danger he had received. 

wouldn^t take you there for twice your ten 
dollars,’’ said Uri. ‘‘It is not safe for us, and I 
don’t think it would be for you.” 

“Why, pray? Are the mountaineers so dan- 
gerous ? ’ ’ 

“Just now they are, especially against sur- 
veyors. Are you a surveyor, sir?” 

‘ ‘ Hardly. But that reminds me. Do either of 
you know anything about Captain Birdwell’s 
surveying party, that ought to be somewhere up 
in this wilderness?” 


106 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘‘We do, indeed. Vance and I are on onr way 
to join it now. Vance is a member of it.’^ 

“Vance— Vance !” The stranger appeared 
to mnse, then his face brightened. “Is this 
Vance Sevier!’’ 

“That is my name,” replied Vance. “And 
yours ? ” 

‘ ‘ Bless me ! Wliat good luck ! ’ ’ The stranger 
shook hands with Vance cordially, while his 
eager, overpowering gaze dwelt so warmly on 
the young fellow that the latter colored in a sort 
of agreeable embarrassment. “Martel is my 
name— legal firm of Prather & Martel, of New 
York.” 

“VTiat, sir!” exclaimed Vance, with sudden 
respectfulness of manner. “Not our Mr. Mar- 
tel, president of the hunting and fishing club that 
owns all these 'thousands of acres 1 ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ The same. What of it ! I had an idle week. 
I knew the survey was about to go on ; so I came 
down to look around a little. As I said before, 
my guide ran off very strangely. I told him 
who I was, and first I knew he was gone. We 


VANCE SEVIER. 


107 


were in camp, having tramped through these 
mountains all day. Gad ! Did not know where 
I was, but I pushed on blindly, hoping to come 
to a house. Luckily, I had no luggage hut this 
small handbag.’’ 

“He skipped when you told him who you 
were?” asked Uri. Then, as the man assented, 
the boy added, “No wonder. All the folks round 
here are down on you, your club and your sur- 
veyors. Your best plan is to stick with Vance 
and myself.” 

“I most assuredly shall.” And Mr. Martel 
pressed Vance’s arm with effusiveness. “We 
will hunt up this Captain Birdwell, who will 
know me by name, though he has not seen me 
personally. We will avoid these suspicious 
mountaineers, and if money will at any time 
help us along, why, ahem!”— he tapped his 
breast pocket significantly~“the cash is ready.” 

Despite Martel’s well-dressed appearance, 
effusive manners and great friendliness, Vance 
did not altogether like the man. Uri, however, 
was quickly won over, and the trio journeyed 


108 


VANCE SEVIER. 


along together in great harmony. Uri contin- 
ually urged haste ; Martel, being tired and un- 
accustomed to such rough travel, complained 
somewhat; Vance also failed to see why such 
haste should be maintained especially as there 
was no sign of pursuit. 

Uri then told them what Arizony had said 
concerning BirdwelPs movements and the prob- 
able plan to entrap the surveying party. 

At this Mr. Martel manifested some uneasi- 
ness. He remarked that it would be quite awk- 
ward to be detained in this wilderness longer 
than one would like to be. 

‘‘Yet you are one of its owners,’’ said Uri. 
“You ought to feel at home on your own prop- 
erty. ’ ’ 

“Are we not fugitives all the same? When 
I lived in Savannah— I should rather say New 
York— I did not anticipate any such difficulties 
as seem to be occurring. ’ ’ 

WTiile Uri and the lawyer thus conversed, 
Vance dwelt in his mind on this allusion to Sa- 
vannah that was so quickly corrected. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


109 


‘ ‘ If he had not lived there, ^ ’ thought the boy, 
‘‘would he have let slip so unintentional an al- 
lusion? Yet suppose he did once live there? Is 
there anything wrong in that ? ’ ’ 

The distant bay of a hound suddenly inter- 
rupted these reflections, and also Mr. Martel’s 
flowery description of his country residence on 
the Hudson, to which Uri was intently listening. 

The young mountaineer halted, motioning 
with his hand for silence. Presently there came 
floating upon the still morning air another faint, 
clear, unmistakable cry, far off indeed, yet com- 
ing from their rear, from the direction in which 
lay the Tuggle farm. 

“Are you a pretty good traveler?” asked Uri, 
turning to Mr. Martel. 

“Ordinarily, yes. But I confess my night out 
has wearied me some. Why do you ask, my 
boy?” 

“Well, my father and his friends are after 
us already. There is just one chance for us to 
avoid capture.” 

“And that?” inquired Vance, nervously. 


110 


VANCE SEVIER. 


to reach Captain Birdwell before they 
catch up with us. We must make for Wild Cat 
Ford.’’ 

‘‘But how do you know they are after us, 
Uri f ” queried Vance. ‘ ‘ One hound ’s cry is like 
another—” 

“You wouldn’t say that if you had lived in 
the mountains all your life. Old Louder is on 
our trail again; I know his voice. He will 
hardly lose us this time, for there is no water 
to throw him otf.” 

As they still stood, once more the ominous, 
deep-throated bay was heard. 

“Come on!” urged Uri. “It is sounding 
nearer already.” 


CHAPTEK X. 

AKIZONY GOES HOME. 

When Arizony left the boys and Mr. Martel, 
she hnrried through the woods as fast as pos- 
sible, in order to reach the house before her ab- 
sence would be noticed. As has been stated, 
she had to make a long detour in order to go 
around the cliffs and gain the riverbank at the 
ford where she had already crossed. 

Near the head of the ravine, where the cliff 
gradually melted into mountain-side, she came 
to the spring near which she had found the 
stranger. There was the imprint of his form 
in the leaves where he had tried to sleep during 
the night. 

As she kicked the dead herbage meditatively, 
she saw the corner of something white peering 
from the leaves. She picked it up. 


Ill 


112 


VANCE SEVIER. 


It was an envelope, torn across one end, and 
inside was a letter. Arizony glanced at the ad- 
dress. It read, '‘Mr. Anton Baya, Fernandina, 
Fla.’’ 

The girl conld read the writing, bnt both name 
and place were entirely strange to her. Yet she 
instinctively felt that the missive mnst have 
been lost by the stranger, who had told her that 
his name was Martel. 

She could not return in time to overtake the 
three, who were now hurrying on to meet Cap- 
tain Birdwell’s party, but she saw no use in 
leaving the letter there. 

"Somehow it don’t look right for that man to 
say his name is one thing and have letters di- 
rected to another person,” she thought. "He 
said he was from New York and that he was 
one of the owners of this Wetmore Tract. Yet 
he gets letters addressed to Fernandina, a place 
I never heard of before. Well, I will keep this 
until I have a chance to give it to its owner. ’ ’ 

Arizony resumed her roufe, after thrusting 
the letter deep down in a pocket of her linsey 


VANCE SEVIER. 


113 


dress. A swift walk of a mile, then she reached 
the ford, where a series of rocks, connected by 
short logs, formed a footway over the river. 
Hardly had she reached the other side than the 
bushes parted and Wolf Renfro appeared. 

‘‘Where have you beenT^ he asked, sternly, 
at the same time eying her in a questioning, al- 
most wistful way. 

“I don^t know that it is any concern of 
yours, she replied, coldly, for her natural dis- 
like of the young man was heightened by a fear 
that he liked her too well personally. 

“Aye, but it is. None of the rest of them 
knows you are gone. Tell me what you went 
for and I won’t say anything.” 

“Never mind that. Let me pass! They’re 
needing me at the house. ’ ’ 

“Go on, then,” said he, sullenly. “Whether 
you tell or not, I know your errand. It was to 
see Uri and that surveyor chap and let them 
know what we are up to. Nice work that— turn- 
ing against your own father! Well, he shall 
know all I know as soon as we get to the house.” 


114 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Arizony passed on, inwardly fearful, though 
outwardly calm. Wolf walked by her side, oc- 
casionally glancing at her, yet stubborn of 
manner and defiant of purpose. As they crossed 
the clearing she spoke again. 

‘‘Don’t say anything. Wolf, about your meet- 
ing me. Father will be angry.” 

“What do I care'F I have seen for some time 
that you dislike me, and now I can pay you 
back. I had an idea that you were out, so I 
went to the ford, on a venture. Seems I was 
right.” 

Through the morning mists numbers of men 
could be seen stirring about the yard. A pleas- 
ant smell of frying meat and boiling cotfee was 
in the air. All hands were breakfasting. Ari- 
zony heard her mother calling her name and 
finally saying to old Zebulon: 

“Where can that girl be, I wonder?” 

“Here we are!” cried Renfro, in stentorian 
tones, at the same time seizing Arizony ’s wrist 
in a firm grip. “We were just walking around 
in the woods for the fun of the thing.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


115 ' 


‘‘Let me go, you— you coward!’’ exclaimed 
the girl, struggling in vain to release herself. 

They entered the yard^ Renfro still dragging 
her forward. 

Old Zeb Tuggle came up, wiping his mouth 
with his sleeve; he had just breakfasted. As 
he saw Arizony a deep scowl appeared on his 
face. 

“You’re a nice girl! Why didn’t you help 
get breakfast?” 

“I— I,” began Arizony, then stopped, mean- 
while rubbing the wrist Renfro had just re- 
leased. 

“Where did you find her. Wolf?” 

“Crossing the river this way. She has been 
otf to see Uri and that surveyor chap. No 
doubt of it, old man. I reckon she told them 
all they wanted to know about what we-uns are 
going to do.” 

Tuggle glared at his daughter fiercely; then 
his veins began to swell, and his fingers itched 
to bury themselves in her hair. He burst into 
an imprecation or two, then turned off suddenly. 


116 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


’a choked the life out of her if I’d ’a 
looked at her a minute longer,” he explained to 
Wolf, who accompanied him. ‘‘Tell me what 
you saw her do.” 

They consulted together for a few minutes. 
Then the old man called up several of the 
younger men among his neighbors. 

“I want four of you to go with Renfro right 
away. The old woman will give you some grub. 
Take my dog Louder and his mate, cross the 
river and hunt up and down until you strike 
Uri’s trail. You’re bound to find it somewhere, 
for they crossed last night. When you do strike 
it, f oiler them to Jericho and back but what you 
come up with them or find where they’re go- 
ing.” 

“And the rest of you!” queried Wolf, as his 
party were making ready. 

“Part of us will strike for Wild Cat Ford 
and close in behind Birdwell. The rest will 
string themselves all round old Snow Bird. 
Every trail and pass will be guarded. There 
can’t a soul get out of Dead Man’s Trap, time 


VANCE SEVIER. 


117 


we get our arrangements made. You leave 
BirdwelPs party to us, and see that Uri and 
Vance don’t run clean away from you. 'When 
we get them all penned up, then we’ll have fun. 
Time we get through with them surveyors they 
won’t want to bother the 'Wetmore Tract again 
—that is, them that’s left won’t.” 

Arizony, who was still within hearing, shud- 
dered at her father’s vindictive accents and the 
hearty assent that came from the assembled 
mountaineers. She went to the kitchen, and 
after being scolded by her mother, subsided into 
her usual morning tasks with a heavy heart. 

In the meantime Wolf and his party crossed 
the river, where the dogs soon found the trail. 
Loader’s long, clear cry at this juncture was 
heard by Uri, and a long chase began. 

During the night and in the morning other 
mountaineers had arrived at the Tuggle cabin, 
until about every man who lived on the Wet- 
more land had assembled, fully bent upon exe- 
cuting dire measures against the strangers who 
were preparing to oust them from their homes. 


118 


VANCE SEVIER. 


A party of a dozen or more under the leader- 
ship of Zeb Tuggle himself, started for Wild 
Cat Ford by a route somewhat in the same di- 
rection, though on the opposite side of the river 
from that pursued by Uri and Vance. 

The residue of the party scattered themselves 
by different paths through the woods to the 
east and north of the great Snow Bird Moun- 
tain. Each squad was to take possession of a 
certain pass, gap or ford, by which any one 
leaving the high plateau on top of the mountain 
might be intercepted. Thus, in whatever direc- 
tion flight was taken, there would be angry foes 
somewhere in the path. 

When the men had all gone, and no one re- 
mained at the Tuggle cabin but women and chil- 
dren, Arizony found the time pass very uncom- 
fortably. Her mother suspected her. The sev- 
eral women visiting there avoided her. The 
distrust of her father and the other men had 
reacted upon their feminine companions. 

Once, when she attempted to go to the spring 
for water with two or three girls of her own age 


VANCE SEVIER. 


119 


—daughters of neighbors— she was openly re- 
buffed. 

‘‘We ain’t caring for your company,” said 
one. “You better go join them surveyors; 
that’s what I think.” 

Arizony turned rather sadly away, and after 
that made no further attempt to ingratiate her- 
self with the others. She was filled with anxi- 
ety in behalf of Uri and Vance. In addition to 
this, she was sharp enough to divine the pos- 
sible consequences that would finally result 
from this bold defiance of law on the part of her 
father and his friends. 

Long association with Uri had made her more 
intelligent than the average mountain girl. 
Though her elders remained ignorantly blind, 
she foresaw arrests, imprisonment, fines, suffer- 
ing for all. Even though Captain Birdwell’s 
party should be defeated, others stronger and 
more merciless would follow. 

Martel, now alone and helpless, was clad with 
a final power impossible for them to resist— 


120 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


that is, if he really was Martel, president of 
that remote northern hunting club. 

Arizony stole sundry glances at the envel- 
ope addressed to Mr. Anton Baya, but received 
little self-consolation therefrom. It merely 
suggested subterfuge in a vague, forbidding 
way. 

At dinner, whenever she attempted conversa- 
tion, the cold shoulder was turned. 

Finally, Mrs. Tuggle said: 

‘‘Hush up, child. We all know you helped 
Uri and that surveyor feller to get away, and 
that you done what you could against your own 
father, who is trying to keep a roof over your 
head. If I was you, I’d play shet mouth and 
stay still. That’s the least you can do.” 

Arizony listened at first with renewed anger. 
Then, as she met on every side suspicious 
glances, she suddenly burst into tears, left the 
table and rushed into the other cabin. ' 

During the afternoon the “company” grad- 
ually went away to their own homes, leaving 
only Mrs. Tuggle, Arizony and the younger 


VANCE SEVIER. 


121 


children. As they sat by the fire, the girl looked 
so sad that the mother relented somewhat, 
though her suspicions remained unchanged. 

^‘Perhaps you had better get to bed early, 
she observed. ‘‘A good sleep will make you 
feel better, and I hope it will make you ashamed 
of turning against your own folks. 

haven’t turned against you, mother,” pro- 
tested Arizony. love you all dearly. But 
father was so unjust to Uri and— and Vance. 
I feel sure them surveyors are not going to—” 

Here a loud barking among the remaining 
dogs almost lifted the floor as the animals 
rushed from under the house into the yard. 

‘ ^ Hi there ! ’ ’ shouted a voice. ^ ‘ Call ’em off 
—call ’em off! Will they bite?” 

Mrs. Tuggle and Arizony hastened to the 
door. Two men were just outside the gate. One 
of them bore a pine torch. The dogs were bark- 
ing at them furiously. 

^^Who be you?” demanded Mrs. Tuggle, sus- 
piciously. 

^‘Strangers, ma’am. I fear we have lost our 


122 


VANCE SEVIER. 


way. Could you keep us to-night T’ Then, as 
no reply came: ‘^You shall be well paid.” 

^‘We don’t want your money,” replied Mrs. 
Tuggle. ^^Our men folks ain’t to home. You 
better go on down to Crunch ’s—” 

‘ ‘ Madam, ’ ’ interrupted the stranger who had 
first spoken, ^^we are tired and hungry. We 
will be no trouble. I myself am completely 
worn out. My guide here, who is from below, 
confesses that he is lost.” 

^‘What might be your name?” ventured Ari- 
zony, who began to feel sorry for the wayfarers. 

^‘Hold your tongue, child!” reproved the 
mother. ^M’m a-talking.” 

^Mf my name will procure us lodging, all 
right,” said the stranger. There is plenty of 
money to back it, too— eh, Henry?” This last 
to the guide, with a cackling laugh. ‘^My name 
is Martel,” he added. want to find Zebulon 
Tuggle’s, where one of my employees is stop- 
ping, as I understand. His name is Vance 
Sevier. ’ ’ 

‘^You can’t stop here, I tell you!” snapped 


VANCE SEVIER. 


123 


Mrs. Tuggle, in more hostile tones than before. 
‘‘If you^re one of them surveyor chaps—’’ 

“Did you say your name is Martel T’ inter- 
posed Arizony, unable longer to keep silent. 

“It is. I am from New York, and am one of 
the owners of these adjacent mountains. Can 
we stop—” 

Here sounds of an altercation between 
mother and daughter grew so loud that the man 
paused. 

‘ ‘ If his name is Martel, I say he shall stop ! ’ ’ 
declared the girl, with a vehemence that at last 
overbore her mother’s active opposition. “I 
want him to explain something. Indeed, mother, 
it will be all right!” 


CHAPTER XL 


MAKTEL AND MYSTEKY. 

During the dispute at the door the dogs gave 
back somewhat, and the two men came forward. 

Mrs. Tuggle at last sullenly gave way. 

‘‘Come on in!’’ she rather ungraciously 
called out. “I don’t want you, but this head- 
strong girl does— Lord only knows why. It’s 
all of a piece with the way she ’s been doing be- 
fore. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, madam!” said the stranger 
who had done all the talking. “We regret 
troubling you, and will inconvenience you as 
little as we can. Bring in my portmanteau, 
Henry.” 

Then there entered a little, round, roly-poly 
sort of man, with so much good humor beaming 
from his broad, ruddy face, and with such po- 

124 


VANCE SEVIER. 


125 


liteness exuding, as it were, from every move- 
ment of his body that half of Mrs. Tuggle’s pre- 
judice vanished at the first clear sight of him. 
When she saw the big mustached guide, the 
other half began to dwindle. 

‘‘Why, Cousin Henry,” she said, offering her 
hand, “what brings you up in the mountains-” 

“So, Henry Shouse is your cousin, is he?” 
laughed the fat man. “That is good! A-a-h! 
This fire feels good, too. Might I ask, ladies, 
at whose house I have the pleasure of stop- 
ping?” 

“It’s the very place you was wanting to get 
to, sir,” explained Shouse, the guide. “This is 
Zeb Tuggle’s, and yan’s his wife, who is my 
own cousin on my mother’s side. I knowed in 
reason we ought to be somewheres about the 
place, though it’s so long since I been up here 
[that I got fooled in the dark.” 

“Well, well, this is what I call luck! Happy 
to meet you, Mrs. Tuggle! And you— er— er” 
—the fat man paused, smiling and nodded at 


126 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Arizony— ‘‘the young lady who was kind 
enough to insist on our going no further.” 

“That is my daughter, Arizony,” replied the 
mother. “Arizony, this is your cousin, Henry 
Shouse, whom you never seen afore, I reckon. 
Well, being it’s kin folks, I am glad you 
stopped. ’Course you ain’t been to supper.” 

“Nor dinner, either, Mrs. Tuggle,” assured 
the fat man. “Do fix up something nice, for 
we,” confidentially— “we are about starved 
out. By George, ma’am, I could eat a fried 
bootleg, ’pon my soul!” 

The guide accompanied Mrs. Tuggle to the 
kitchen, both talking vigorously together. 
Arizony lingered. Two of the children were 
peering at the fat man from one of the beds at 
the back of the room. 

“So this is Zeb Tuggle’s,” remarked the 
stranger. “Not at home, I suppose?” 

“No; he— he is out in the mountains,” re- 
plied the girl, somewhat embarrassed, not only 
at the question, but at her own state of mind. 

“Sorry for that. But where is young Vance 


VANCE SEVIER. 


127 


Sevier? He came on ahead of my surveying 
party. I was told he was here, hunting and fish- 
ing, while waiting for Captain Birdwell to ar- 
rive. Well, I am something of a trout fisher 
myself. So I thought I would hurry on and 
persuade this lad to show me some sport. ’ ’ 

^ Wance is not here, either. He left this— this 
morning. Are you a friend of his?^’ 

^‘Well, as I said before, I am his employer. 
That is, I have employed the man who employs 
him ; so I suppose I might call myself his friend. 
I have never seen him though.’^ 

‘ ^ Are you really sure your name is Martel ? ^ ’ 
asked Arizony. 

Her tone was so anxious, and her question 
sounded so extraordinary to the fat man, that 
he sat staring at her for a moment. 

‘ ‘ That is a very strange question, my child, ’ ’ 
he responded, at last, regarding her more seri- 
ously. ‘‘Why do you ask it?^’ 

“If you will make me sure that you are the 
true Mr. Martel, I will tell you something you 
ought to know.’^ 


128 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Bless me! This sounds strange. But you 
need not doubt. I am really John Martel. I 
live in New York, and I practice law. Here,” 
opening his grip and handing her a number of 
letters, all addressed to John Martel, or 
Prather & Martel, No. — Broad Street, New 
York, ‘‘can you read writing?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered the girl, looking at each 
superscription with increasing wonder. “I 
think it is all right. Now, let me show you 
something. ’ ’ 

Arizony produced the letter she had found in 
the woods that morning. Mr. Martel looked at 
it curiously, pondered a minute, then patted her 
shoulder lightly. 

‘ ‘ Bay a. Bay a, ’ ’ he replied. ‘ ‘ Why, that must 
be the man who introduced himself to me at the 
Battery Park Hotel in Asheville. Said he was 
going to the mountains; seemed curious about 
me and my movements. Just then I had a 
touch of my rheumatism, and told him I would 
probably remain in Asheville. But after he 
went away T felt better, and concluded to push 


VANCE SEVIER. 


129 


on and see what my surveyors were doing, and 
also have a go at the trout, which I understood 
were plentiful in the Big Smokies.’’ 

Arizony’s brow cleared as she listened. A 
mystery was being solved partially. Yet she 
was now concerned in another way. What ob- 
ject could this other man— now with Uri and 
Vance— have in calling himself Martel? Per- 
haps the jolly fat man might be able to further 
explain. 

found that letter about a mile from here 
in the woods,” she said. think it was 

dropped by a middling sized man, with a 
pointed brown beard, hair a little gray and 
curly, and with very keen blue eyes. He wore 
a grass-colored coat, brown knickerbockers, and 
he carried a Marlin rifle, because it was like 
Vance’s, and his is a Marlin—” 

That must be Baya, sure enough. You have 
described the man I mean; but I know hardly 
anything about him— Stay! Fernandina, is 
it? I think that is where he said he hailed 
from, sure enough. One thing— Hold on!” 


130 


VANCE SEVIER. 


The fat man rummaged again in his handbag 
and produced a business card, which he ad- 
justed his eyeglass to read. ‘Barton & Baya, 
Attorneys at Law, Fernandina, Fla., and Way- 
cross, Ga. ’ There you are. What do you make 
of this, my girl 1 It is all a mystery to me. ’ ’ 

“I don’t know. All I can tell you is this. 
Yesterday my father became angry at Vance 
Sevier, when he learned that he was a surveyor. 
So my brother Uri and. Vance went away. I 
went to where they were early this morning, 
and on the way I found this man, who called 
himself Mr. Martel, of New York. He had at- 
tempted to come on from Cranch’s and got lost. 
He seemed very glad to see Vance, though I 
don’t know why. Then they all went off to- 
gether, and, on the way back, I passed where he 
had lain down in the night, and there I found 
this letter.” 

The real Mr. Martel became even more 
thoughtful. 

“It seemed to me in Asheville that he was un- 
duly curious about me and my affairs. He has 


VANCE SEVIER. 


131 


some scheme on foot, I^m sure, though what it 
is, or why he should personate me or interest 
himself in young Sevier, is beyond me at pres- 
ent. I have letters with me for Vance Sevier, 
among others. You see I brought up the 
party’s mail from below. Perhaps they will 
explain. So Sevier is not liereP’ 

‘^No, sir. It is not safe for him to be here, 
nor would it be safe for you were my father 
here— that is, if he knew you were the presi- 
dent of the rich club that is buying up the Wet- 
more Tract.” 

Hullo! more mysteries. For new acquaint- 
ances, my child, we are getting on famously.” 
The fat man laughed, and his pink, clean- 
shaven cheeks shook. ‘^Why is it not safe for 
us here, and yet still so pleasant to be here 1 ’ ’ 
Arizony then proceeded to explain the actual 
condition of affairs regarding the feeling of the 
mountaineers toward the survey and sale of the 
land, and their consequent attitude toward the 
only visible cause thereof that could be reached 
by them, the surveyors. 


132 


VANCE SEVIER. 


She recounted the events leading to the re- 
cent uprising, the adventures of Vance and Uri, 
the plans and departure of the mountaineers 
and the extreme likelihood that violence and 
perhaps bloodshed might shortly ensue. 

During this narration, Martel sat perfectly 
still, searching with his small, quick-moving, 
open eye the girl’s face, and asking now and 
then a brief, pertinent question. 

‘‘This is an extraordinary state of affairs. 
Why, your father and his friends haven’t a 
legal leg to stand upon in their proceedings. 
And to further complicate matters, along comes 
this Baya with some private rascality of his 
own, no doubt, to carry out. ’ ’ 

“Supper!” called Mrs. Tuggle, from the 
kitchen. “We ain’t got much to eat, but such 
as it is you’re welcome. Arizony, bring out a 
chair!” 

“We will talk this over later, Arizony,” said 
Mr. Martel, cheerily. “I thank you for being 
so frank with me, and, in return, let me say 
that, whatever happens, you will find me a 
friend.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


133 


Once at the table, the little fat man was the 
personification of jolly good humor. He 
praised the fried chicken and the honest pones 
of bread. When Mrs. Tnggle announced the 
absence of sugar, he declared that coffee un- 
sweetened was just what his system craved. 

He told funny stories, and soon had them in 
such an uproar of laughter that the children 
left their beds and hung around the doors, 
watching the genial stranger. Mr. Shouse sur- 
veyed his patron in open admiration, and oc- 
casionally whispered to his cousin; 

‘^He’s a joker, ain’t he, Sophrony Tuggle? 
Just that way all day, though I know he’s plum 
tuckered out. He’s got too much fat for hard 
walking, but he’s as bang-up a man as ever 
struck these mountains. Don’t you wish Zeb 
was home?” 

And Mrs. Tuggle, all unconscious that she was 
entertaining the arch offender in the matter of 
the Wetmore Tract, would wipe her eyes after 
laughing heartily at Martel’s last joke and 
avow that she never ‘^had seen the man’s beat.” 


134 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


For an hour after supper they sat by the fire, 
Arizony alone looking grave and anxious. She 
did not understand how Mr. Martel could be so 
cheery, knowing as he did now that every man 
in the neighborhood was probably his enemy. 
At times Mr. MartePs eye would meet hers in 
a sly but meaning glance, that seemed to say, 
‘‘Keep quiet; I know what I am about.” 

“I guess you men must be tired,” said Mrs. 
Tuggle, at last. “I could listen to you all night, 
but we won’t never wake up in the morning. 
Arizony, you show Cousin Henry and the 
stranger to the bed in the kitchen. Then mind 
you kiver up some fire afore you lie down your- 
self.” 

On the way across the yard, Mr. Martel found 
a chance to ask : 

“Arizony, could you guide me to where 
young Sevier, or Captain Birdwell, or any of 
my men are apt to be to-morrow I Henry 
Shouse goes back early in the morning, as he 
was only to bring me here.” 

“I’ll think about it, sir,” whispered the girl. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


135 


may be dangerous, but—” She hesitated, 
then added, ‘ ‘ If you see me go toward the river 
after breakfast, you make it convenient to walk 
on down there, just as if you were going to 
fish. ’ ’ 

‘‘I understand. We can talk unobserved. 
You are a shrewd girl. Trust in me, and we 
will avert bloodshed and perhaps save your 
father and his friends from the commission of 
crime. Good-night ! ’ ’ 

His last words were spoken with a gravity al- 
most impressive, for Shouse had already en- 
tered the kitchen. 

Arizony hurried back, feeling a strange con- 
fidence, not only in the goodness but the power 
of this jolly, yet earnest and unterrified little 
man. 

1 

Arizony lay long awake,' pondering over the 
perplexing phases of the situation. It would 
not do to let her mother know. She would only 
look upon Martel as an enemy. Nor would it 
do to allow her father to rush upon violence 
unwarned, for, as Martel said, the law was 


136 


VANCE SEVIER. 


against anything of that sort. Furthermore, 
there was Vance and Uri, with a false Martel 
forcing himself upon them for some mysterious 
purpose, that might also be full of harm. If the 
real Martel could pour oil upon these troubled 
waters, was it not her duty to aid him as best 
she could? 

‘ ‘ I will go ! ’ ’ she resolved at last. ‘ ‘ Anything 
that promises well is better than staying here, 
doing nothing, besides being suspected by my 
own folks.’’ 


CHAPTER XII. 


AT WILDCAT FORD. 

All day Uri, Vance and the man calling him- 
self Martel pursued their way up and down a 
series of ridges, ravines, gorges and outlying 
spurs of the larger mountains. At. times the 
far-oH cry of the hounds warned them that 
their pursuers Were still sticking to the trail, 
though for a long time the pursued kept well in 
advance. 

After a short halt by a spring at the head of 
a ravine for lunch, Martel or Baya declared 
that he was too tired to go farther. 

‘‘Well, then,’’ said Uri, “we will have to 
Jeave you. We have to reach Wild Cat Ford 
as soon as possible in order to warn Captain 
Birdwell of the danger he is in. ’ ’ 

“Let Birdwell look out for himself,” replied 

137 




138 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Baya, as we might as well call the man, though 
asserting himself to be Martel for some strange 
purpose of his own. ‘ ‘ Let us seek some suitable 
spot and take a rest until morning. ’ ’ 

^^Do you hear thatr^ asked Uri, as another 
melancholy canine cry broke faintly on their 
ears. ‘Mf we stop for an hour, either here or 
anywhere around in these woods, that dog will 
find us. I am going on.’’ 

^‘Do so, my boy. Vance and I will rest for a 
time; then we will follow. You can give us di- 
rections so that we will not get lost. ’ ’ 

Uri smiled, both at Baya’s evident eagerness 
to be left and at the ridiculousness of the idea 
that these two— both unfamiliar with the moun- 
tains— would be able to find their way amid this 
interminable labyrinth of ridges and hollows. 
But young Sevier announced his surprise at 
this programme plainly. 

should think, Mr. Martel,” said the young 
surveyor, ‘‘that you would be more concerned 
about Captain Birdwell and the others, seeing 
we all are in your employ and doing your work. 


YANCE SEVIER. 


139 


If you will excuse me for saying so, I think we 
three ought to push on together.’’ 

‘‘Not so, my dear Vance,” rejoined the sup- 
posed Martel. “Uri can warn Captain Bird- 
well. You and I will remain together— and 
rest.” 

“ And be captured in an hour or so by the 
very men who are out after us all. Why, they 
might shoot us down in cold blood— mightn’t 
they, Uri?”— this from Vance, with som^ ve- 
hemence. ’ ’ 

“Well, they might treat you pretty roughly, 
especially if they found out that Mr. Martel was 
the purchaser of their lands and the real pro- 
moter of these proposed changes.” 

“Do you really think so?” said Baya, in some 
alarm. 

“I know it. If you are President Martel of 
the hunting club, you’re the very one my father 
and others would like to get hold of. ’ ’ 

“Then perhaps we had better move on.” 
Baya stretched his tired legs and kept his eyes 
fixed upon Vance, who stillday at full length on 


140 


VANCE SEVIER. 


the leaves. ®‘But whatever we do, I am deter- 
mined to keep yon with me. ’ ’ 

This to yonng Sevier accompanied by an 
nnctnons smile, at the same time patting the 
lad on the breast here and there, apparently in 
fond approval, bnt in reality with a lingering 
persistence that at last aronsed Vance’s dis- 
taste. The boy sprang up. ^ 

‘‘I think we had better be otf,” he said, with 
emphasis, at the same time taking up his rifle 
and joining Uri, who was already waiting to 
start. ‘‘Come on, Mr. Martel, if yon are going 
with us.” 

Bay a obeyed rather reluctantly. As the three 
trudged on together, he furtively regarded 
Vance from time to time in a disapprobative 
yet curious manner. The journey that after- 
noon was full of trials and fatigue, especially 
for Baya, who more than once would have flatly 
refused to go further but for the ever recurring 
cry of the slow trailing hounds in their rear. 

Shortly before sunset they arrived at a small 
open glade where a considerable stream ran 


VANCE SEVIER. 


141 


rapidly down. On either side the hills rose 
abruptly. At one flank, a sort of broken cliff 
thrust itself forward into the creek, midway up 
the side of which was a small, dark opening. 
Uri immediately began to examine the creek 
bank for footprints, but soon announced that no 
one had passed very recently. 

‘‘Is this Wild Cat Ford thenT’ asked Vance. 

“Yes. Up the hollow goes the trail leading 
to Dead Man’s Trap. It appears that we are 
not too late. Now the question is, which had 
we better do ? Keep on down Wild Cat Run un- 
til we meet Captain Birdwell and his men, or 
wait here for their arrival.” 

“Boys,” said Baya, “I am incapable of 
traveling farther to-day. Vance, I implore you 
not to leave me here.” 

“I am pretty well tired out myself,” replied 
Vance. “But if we remain here, will we not be 
liable to attack and capture?” 

“Oh, yes. Those who are after us will come 
up, of course. Then I feel sure my father and 
others will also make for this place, because 


142 


VANCE SEVIER. 


they already know that Captain Birdwell will 
pass here. By either intercepting him or clos- 
ing behind, they will cut off his retreat. ’ ’ 

^ ‘ But he or we can get away by going in some 
other direction over the mountains, can’t we, 
Urir’ 

^‘It all depends, Vance. If you are an experi- 
enced woodsman, you won’t go up that hollow 
and into Dead Man’s Trap. If you are a green 
hand you will ; then they have you penned. Be- 
sides this, I feel certain that men have gone to 
every pass or gap leading out of old Snow Bird. 
The safest plan would be for us to go down 
stream until we meet Birdwell, then all hands 
go back, until times are fairer up here.” 

‘‘Boys,” said the supposed Martel, growing 
suddenly severe, as he sat up where he had 
thrown himself on the grass, “am I your em- 
ployer or not?” 

“You are not mine, sir,” replied Uri, 
promptly. “I only came because I liked 
Vance.” 

“At least, I am yours, Vance, am I not?” 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


143 


‘'Well, I hardly know. Captain Birdwell 
hired me, though you say you are the one who 
hires Captain Birdwell.^’ 

“Precisely. And had I not employed Bird- 
well he would not employ you. Is not that 
plain?’’ 

“I suppose so,” said Vance, feeling an unac- 
countable reluctance to acknowledge his subor- 
dination to this man. 

“Well, then, I entreat you— I command you, 
to remain with me. If Uri wants to go on, he 
can warn Birdwell. We will dodge those fel- 
lows behind us, somehow. But it is impossible 
for me to travel another mile. Whatever hap- 
pens, Vance, do not leave me,” 

Vance wondered at this persistence, but be- 
ing very weary himself, he turned to Uri, who 
appeared to be none the worse for his hard 
day’s tramp. 

“Is there any way for us to stop here and 
avoid being captured?” 

“See that hole, part way up the cliff?” re- 
sponded Uri, pointing to the wedge of precipice 


144 


VANCE SEVIER. 


that thrust itself out into the creek. ‘‘If we 
climb up there we are safe as long as our grub 
holds out. There is another outlet, but it goes 
into Dead Man’s Trap.” 

“A cave, I presume,” commented Vance. 
“We might risk it. When Birdwell and his 
men come up we will be stronger than now. I 
suppose they, too, could join us up there.” 

“With our rifles we ought to be able to keep 
a clear course, perhaps we might risk it. After 
all, there is no knowing where Captain Bird- 
well is. I can only say that no party has passed 
this ford lately. If father and his friends block- 
ade us here, we can keep them off, or, perhaps, 
make our way out by another route. Should 
we keep on down the creek, we might not find 
Birdwell, and we might be overtaken at a place 
where we would have no show to defend our- 
selves. ’ ’ 

“Then we will stop here. But Uri,” Vance 
grew grave as he spoke, “you surely would not 
advise us to use our guns against your friends 
—perhaps against your own father?” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


145 


‘*N— no. Blit what T did mean was this-— I 
know they will not hesitate to nse rifles against 
us, if necessary. Why, I have no doubt they 
would string Mr. Martel up to a tree with a 
good relish—’^ 

Great Scott,’’ exclaimed the stranger, 
springing up, regardless of his fatigue. ‘Won 
do not mean that ? ’ ’ 

‘Mf you are President Martel, I do. If 
not—” 

^ ‘ Do you doubt me ?’ ’ This rather crossly and 
with a tired peevishness of manner. ‘Wance 
does not, I feel sure.” 

‘^We neither of us doubt your word; but 
what I meant was, that as long as the mountain 
men are so angry, we may have to threaten 
them with our rifles, if need he.” 

‘‘Hark!” said Vance. “AVhat is thatP’ 

Sounds of an approaching party from below 
were audible. At the same time the baying of 
the pursuing hounds rose nearer than ever, 
though in another direction. 

“It may be Captain Birdwell,” said Uri. 


146 


VANCE SEVIER. 


^‘Old Louder is not more than a half mile away. 
Let us get up into the cave. ’ ’ 

^‘And leave Captain Birdwell and his menT’ 
remonstrated Vance. 

‘‘How do we know it is them below? It may 
be my father and his friends. We are too few 
to be caught down here.’’ 

The noise of the dogs grew so loud that they 
hesitated no longer. Those behind the dogs 
they knew to be enemies. Those coming up 
stream might or might not be friends. 

“Hurry!” cried ITri. “Make for the cave. 
No time to lose now.” 

And all three began to scramble up the 
rough ledge for dear life. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


BESIEGED AT THE FORD. 

The shadows of evening were settling heavily 
in the deep hollows of the mountains as the 
three fugitives, led by Uri, climbed up the side 
of the clitf by the only route that was accessible 
without wings. 

Before the mouth of the cave was a small pro- 
jection of rock, forming a sort of platform that 
hung directly over the water. One man, with 
a repeating rifle, could keep back a regiment 
here. Armed only with a club, he might strike 
down scores without being driven back, as only 
a single person could reach the mouth of the 
cave at a time. 

Some parties, doubtless besieged in the past, 
had constructed a rude breastwork of rock that 
partially protected the cave; so that one man 


147 


148 


VANCE SEVIER. 


could remain on watch without being exposed 
to chance shots from below. The distance down 
to the water was perhaps forty feet. 

Hardly had the three reached the cave’s 
mouth, when Uri uttered an impatient exclama- 
tion. 

‘‘We have forgotten to bring up any water,” 
he said. “This will never do.” 

“Will we have to remain up here so long?” 
asked Vance. 

“Who knows? We may be besieged here by 
part of my father’s men, while others may al- 
ready be hurrying round to stop the other out- 
let.” 

“Let us push on through the cave, and—” 

“You forget Captain Birdwell, Vance. We 
came here to join and warn him. Hark!” 

Uri listened at the sounds from below the 
ford, and at the rapidly nearing bay of the 
hounds. 

“They are no doubt held in leash; otherwise, 
old Louder would have overtaken us long ago. 
The dogs can travel no faster than the men. I 


VANCE SEVIER. 


149 


may have time to fill this.’’ He had produced a 
large, flat, quart bottle from his haversack. 
^‘We have no way to lower it, or—” 

He was climbing down the side of the cliff, 
holding to projecting bits of rock and the 
bushes growing in sundry earthly niches. 
‘‘Don’t go, Uri,” said Vance. “It’s danger- 
ous.” 

“I must. We can’t do without water.” 

“Let him go, Vance,” interposed Baya, with 
a hardly disguised eagerness of manner. 

“I don’t want him to risk his safety,” replied 
Vance, feeling a queer dislike at being left alone 
with this strange man, notwithstanding that he 
was supposed to be the head employer of all 
the surveying party. “Hold on, Uri!” 

But Uri was already half-way down the cliff. 
Vance watched him so anxiously that he did not 
at once notice two men in rough homespun garb 
emerge quietly from the bushes somewhat to 
Uri’s rear. 

The bottle, having a small mouth, required a 
rather lengthy submersion in order to be filled. 


150 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Suddenly a party of men appeared round the 
bend ot the mountain side below. Vance’s at- 
tention was attracted by the sight of an un- 
armed man in their midst, who was evidently a 
prisoner. A sense of dismay filled his mind. 

‘‘Good heavens!” he ejaculated. “That is 
Captain Birdwell.” 

“Look! look!” exclaimed Martel or Baya. 
“They will get him sure.” 

Vance glanced again at Uri, who was then 
corking up his filled flask, as he rose from his 
squatting posture at the water’s edge. 

“Look out, Uri!” warned Vance in shrill ac- 
cents. “Lookout!” 

One of the two men sprang on the boy from 
behind, nearly bearing him to the earth. But 
Uri recovered and rose upright, with the man 
clinging to his shoulders. The party below 
gave a shout. The second man ran up. 

“Catch it, Vance!” called Uri, shaking him- 
self loose for a moment by an astonishing ex- 
hibition of strength. “Catch it!” 

He threw the filled bottle upward Vance 


VANCE SEVIER. 


151 


leaned as far over the breastwork of rocks as 
he dared, grasped at the flask, missed it, heard 
it shatter against the cliff, and saw Uri sink to 
the ground with both his antagonists on top of 
him, while others from the main party hastened 
to their comrades^ assistance. 

The baying of the hounds, which had con- 
tinually increased in volume, broke into a furi- 
ous barking, as the dogs, held in check by a tall, 
lank mountaineer, hurst into the glade where 
the trail ended at the water ^s edge. 

^ ‘ Hi, there. Louder ! Here, pup— here ! ’ * said 
a rough, familiar voice. 

Then Vance saw old man Tuggle advance and 
pet his faithful hounds, while from the ravine 
opposite Wolf Renfro and his three tired com- 
panions were now advancing. 

^^Tie that boy,’’ was all the comment made 
by the stern father as Uri, still struggling, was 
led forward by three or four of the mountain- 
eers. ‘^Tie him ! He’s young, but he’s muscled 
like I was at his age. Rope him good! We’ll 
settle with him later on. Hello, Wolf! HeUo, 


152 


VANCE SEVIER. 


boys! Well, weVe got part of ’em, and the 
other one is treed like a sick coon np a black 
gnm.” 

He jerked his hand toward Vance, who was 
still staring down in dismay. 

Baya kept himself carefully out of sight, for 
he remembered that Mr. Martel was the chief 
culprit of all, in the eyes of these half-wild, 
wholly rude men. 

The two parties fraternized below, though at 
the same time several men, with long rifles, sta- 
tioned themselves at convenient points for 
watching the mouth of the cave. Others built 
a large fire, so that as daylight disappeared the 
besieged could be watched. 

^‘My gracious!” exclaimed Wolf Renfro, as 
Baya at length showed himself. ‘‘Dinged if 
there ain’t two of ’em still!” 

“Keep up your courage, Vance!” shouted 
Uri, who had been tied to a sapling near the 
fire. “Remember what I told you about the 
other outlet—” 

A severe slap on the mouth choked his utter- 



VANCE SEVIER. 


153 


ance, as his father came up, scowling fiercely. 

‘‘If you wasn’t a son of mine, I’d have you 
fairly fiayed alive with hickories !” declared the 
I angry parent. ‘ ‘ Shet your mouth, or I ’ll make 
you wish you had, mighty quick!” 

“Captain Birdwell,” called Vance, “I am 
sorry to see you a prisoner! Where are the 
others ? ’ ’ 

“That you, Sevier? Oh, the rest of my men 
are back at Maple Springs ! I thought I would 
take a day off and kill a wild turkey. A man 
went as guide, but we hunted farther than I in- 
tended; had to camp one night. This morning 
we followed a bear trail, failed to get back to 
camp, and about an hour ago these fellows 
swooped down on us. I say!” 

Captain Birdwell, a tall, broad-shouldered 
man, with determined-looking features and 
eyes, glanced half comically around at his cap- 
tors. 

“Well, sir?” responded Vance. 

“I believe it was all fixed up— a preconcerted 
plan, you know.” 


154 


VANCE SEVIER. 


decoy you and your men into the moun- 
tains where you could be captured!’’ 

‘^Something of that kind—” 

‘‘What of it!” broke in Renfro, angrily; for 
he had been listening. “If we string you up 
to these trees as fast as we catch you, it will 
only be what you deserve!” 

“The deuce you say!” exclaimed Birdwell, 
looking puzzled. ‘ ‘ What have we done to make 
you feel that way, or, in fact, to bother us at 
all!” 

“These men hold you and me to blame for 
coming up here to survey the W^etmore Tract. 
They all live on it, and they think that they are 
going to be turned adrifif and lose their homes, 
unless we are driven back. The woods, I have 
no doubts, are full of these angry settlers. Had 
your men come with you, all hands would have 
been taken.” This from Vance, despite sundry 
nudges from Baya, who dreaded lest his as- 
sumed personality should be dragged into the 
discussion. 

“This is a strange state of affairs,” com- 


VANCE SEVIER. 


155 


merited Birdwell. ‘‘Men,” turning to his cap- 
tors, “can you not see that we are only hired 
to do this surveying? We don’t own the land; 
we are not trying to buy it nor, in fact, are we 
doing an^dhing except running it out for those 
who do own it. Is not that so, Sevier?” 

“Rats!” growled Renfro. “You fellers come 
up from the towns and tell us any tale that suits 
you. All we know or want to know is that some 
move is on foot to take away from us our land, 
and we ’re not going to stand it, are we, mates ? ’ ’ 

A heavy chorus of agreement arose from the 
preparing , supper. 

“Well, what have we surveyors to do with 
that, ’ ’ expostulated Birdwell. ‘ ‘ Why don ’t you 
mountaineers, who were variously employed in 
seek out the owners of the land and jump on 
them?” 

‘ ‘ Ah, if we only had ’em here in your place ! ’ ’ 
said old Tuggle, savagely. “Bet your neck 
they wouldn’t want to show their faces in these 
mountains again. Burn the owners, I say!” 

“Don’t give me away!” whispered Baya, 


156 


VANCE SEVIER. 


nervously, to Vance. ‘‘If I— I am Martel, I— 
I— Pray don’t tell them who I am, Vance. 
They would tear me to pieces. ’ ’ 

“They have not got you yet,” replied Vance, 
half -contemptuously. “But if you are so much 
afraid, you know, you could pretend to be some 
one else.” 

Baya looked at the hoy sharply, as if he feared 
that Vance already suspected something; but 
the young surveyor was gazing below, quite un- 
consciously. Birdwell continued to argue for 
some time, but without effect. 

“You might as well shet up,” said one of the 
older mountaineers. “We are going to hold on 
to all we get. If we can’t find the owners, we’ll 
take the hirelings.” 

“VTiat are you going to do with us when you 
get us?” asked the chief surveyor.” 

“You’ll find out in due time. Meanwhile, 
s’pose you hold your jaw. We’d ruther eat 
now than talk.” 

Darkness had arrived. A number of fires had 
been lighted. Plenty of cooked provisions had 


VANCE SEVIER. 


157 


been bronght along ; also ground coffee, togeth- 
er with cans to make it in. With the exception 
of the sentries, all hands were soon eating, 
drinking, joking with each other, feeding the 
dogs and otherwise refreshing themselves after 
a hard day in the woods. 

The two prisoners. Captain Birdwell and Uri, 
received the same fare as the rest, though in 
other respects avoided, further than was nec- 
essary to prevent any escape. The number of 
their* captors was more than twenty, thus ren- 
dering any open opposition futile. 

Vance and the supposed Martel were not only 
tired, but hungry. Luckily, they had drank 
from the creek, before ascending. Unluckily, 
most of the provisions remaining to them had 
been placed in Uri^s haversack, that was on his 
person when he was taken by the advance spies, 
so shrewdly sent forward by the mountaineers 
upon approaching Wild Cat Ford. A baked po- 
tato and a piece of corn bread were in Vance’s 
bag, however, and while those below were eat- 


158 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


ing, the two above divided this and ate it 
eagerly. 

They had seated themselves, in order to dis- 
cuss their meagre fare, though Vance kept an 
eye out toward the spot where a man might 
climb up, lest their position should be suddenly 
scaled. 

All at once Mr. Baya, who had been grumb- 
ling over his scanty meal, uttered an exclama- 
tion and rubbed his head. A pone of corn bread 
had struck him and rolled to their feet. 

Sounds of an altercation below caused Vance 
to spring up and look over the parapet. Old 
man Tuggle had Uri by the collar and was shak- 
ing him vigorously. Though the boy was tied 
to a sapling, his hands were free. 

‘‘I threw it,” he cried. ^‘Did you get it, 
Vance?” 


CHAPTEE XIV. 


A PEEILOUS SITUATION. 

Vance waved his hat in the firelight. 

^^Good for you!’’ he called out. ‘‘I won’t 
forget your kindness, Uri, when we are both out 
of this scrape.” 

Uri attempted to reply, but his father’s lan- 
guage was so violent that he was obliged to de- 
sist, and submitted to having his hands tied with 
as much composure as possible. Birdwell en- 
couraged him by saying he was a plucky lad 
and true to his friends. 

‘^Hold your tongue,” ordered Mr. Tuggle, 
‘ ‘ or I ’ll he dad burned if I don ’t gag you both ! ’ ’ 

He consulted a moment with Eenfro and one 
or two more of the leaders, then fired a rifle 
against the parapet to attract Vance’s notice, 
for the two fugitives had resumed their eating. 


159 


160 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Both sprang np. Baya incautiously exposed 
his head. 

‘‘Great spooks!’’ exclaimed Tuggle. “So 
there’s two on you yet!” 

Who be you?” demanded Renfro of Baya, 
roughly. “I’ve seen you before.” 

“I— prefer not to say— er— just at present,” 
stammered the man, perhaps sincerely regret- 
ting that he had called himself to others by so 
dangerous a name as Martel promised to be in 
that locality. 

“If you are ashamed of your name, most like 
it is a bad one. But that’s neither here nor 
there. We summon you two to surrender forth- 
with ! ’ ’ 

Thus spoke Renfro in his sternest tones, 
whereat Baya turned to Vance. 

“Do you suppose they will let us go, if we 
promise to leave these mountains and come back 
no more?” he queried. 

“How should I know?” responded Vance, 
too disgusted at the man’s evident cowardice 


VANCE SEVIER. 


161 


to be merely civil. ‘‘If I were in your place, I 
know wbat I would do.” 

“Yes I Wbat then would you do, my boy?” 

“I would tell them who I was. Then they 
would probably release the rest of us, who are 
not to blame for this state of affairs, seeing we 
are only obeying your orders.” 

“But what would become of me?” 

“I, for one, would stick to you through every', 
thing. So would Captain Birdwell, I know. If 
they used you hardly, you would at least pre- 
serve your own sense of self-respect—” 

“What did you say up there?” called Wolf, 
loudly. “If you make us come up there and 
take you, we won’t answer for what might hap- 
pen when we get good and mad, eh, fellers?” 

A rumble of assent followed this. 

Baya’s look, as he furtively scrutinized young 
Sevier, was almost malignant. Though too 
cowardly to accept Vance’s advice, he did not 
the less dislike the spirit that prompted so frank 
an opinion. 

“I see that you will say nothing,” said Se-i 


162 


VANCE SEVIER. 


vier, who then leaned over the barricade and 
called ont: 

‘^What are yon giving ns, yon boaster? You 
are the man who said he conld wrestle, are you 
notr’ 

Wolf stared as if he conld hardly believe his 
ears, then broke ont in a torrent of hard words. 

‘^Let ns show that yonng fool what we can 
do!’’ he cried. ‘‘Hnrrah, men! There’s only 
two of ’em, and one a bragging boy. ’ ’ 

A dozen men waded across the ford, shont- 
ing, langhing, evidently regarding the affair 
as more of a joke than a serions fight. 

‘‘We won’t nse onr gnns if yon-nns don’t,” 
assnred one big monntaineer, who probably saw 
the wisdom of refraining from taking life, if 
it conld be avoided. “Look ont for snakes! 
We’re a-comin’ now!” 

While some attempted the cliff, where the fn- 
gitives had already climbed np, one of the larg- 
est men planted himself npon a loose rock and 
braced his fignre by grasping a sapling growing 
from the side of the precipice. Another smaller 


VANCE SEVIER. 


163 


man climbed upon the first one’s shoulders and 
a third, by mounting these two, was able to 
grasp the lower branches of a stunted cedar, the 
top of which reached the level of the cave’s out- 
let. 

As the first invader’s head showed above the 
parapet at the point most accessible, Vance 
pushed him back vigorously. He toppled 
against the clitf side, clinging to some bushes 
growing from the rocky crevices, while the man 
behind pulled himself up. 

^ ‘ Give way there, youngster ! ’ ’ called this sec- 
ond climber. ‘Ht will be the worse for you—” 

He got no further in his declaration, for 
Vance, seizing him by the shoulder, sent him 
backward with such violence that both men 
went sliding and scraping down the almost per- 
pendicular path, upsetting two more in their 
descent. 

A cry from Baya caused Vance to turn. 

Two more men were crawling from the cedar 
to the platform. Vance sprang forward, call- 
ing on Baya to assist, but that gentleman did 


164 


VANCE SEVIER. 


not seem to understand. Then the young sur- 
veyor found himself so busy in repelling this 
second assault, that he had no time to look for 
his fellow-helper. 

^ ‘ I dl make sure you won T get in here ! ’ ^ cried 
Vance, shoving the first man back and seizing 
the second by the throat. 

Despite his efforts, one man gained a foot- 
hold on the rock. Quick as thought Vance 
seized him round the waist, deftly tripped him 
with one foot and sent him crashing through the 
branches, knocking, by his fall, the second 
man^s breath from his body. Both tumbled 
down upon those underneath. Prom below 
sounded a splashing of water and a fusillade of 
bad language as the whole combination found 
themselves half submerged in Wild Cat Creek. 

Just as this phase of the struggle was con- 
cluding, Vance heard Baya shout: 

‘ ' Get back ! Get back, I tell you ! I won ’t have 
it. Ah— take that!’’ 

A sharp report rang out directly behind 
Vance, who turned, to see Baya standing in an 


VANCE SEVIER. 


165 


attitude of fear, with a smoking revolver in his 
hand. 

None of the assailants were visible over the 
breastwork, but the scraping sounds down the 
clitfside betokened their precipitate retreat. 

Vance seized the revolver. 

‘‘Vrhat did you do that forT’ he angrily de- 
manded. ‘ ‘ Did they not say they would use no 
firearms if we did notT’ 

A rifle cracked from below, and a bullet whis- 
tled close to their heads, while an angry roar 
rose from among the mountaineers across the 
creek. 

^‘Down with you!’’ cried Vance, crouching 
himself, as he spoke, and dragging down the 
supposed Martel. ‘‘They will shoot us like 
dogs, now that you have set the example.” 

They were none too soon in hiding, for bullets 
began to ping around them, accompanied by 
the quick, keen detonations of long muzzle-load- 
ers in the hands of men, some of whom were 
accustomed to shooting off the heads of squir- 
rels, just “for the fun of the thing.” 


166 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Vance felt too provoked to argue with his 
companion. Baya himself trembled at the tem- 
pest of anger his rash shot had aroused. 

know I did not hit him/’ he explained. 
‘^In fact, I was— too nervous, you know.” 

don’t doubt it in the least. But we must 
not do it again. Perhaps if we do not return 
their fire, they may he persuaded that your shot 
was a mistake on our part.” 

<<Try ’em another go, men!” yelled out old 
Tuggle. ‘^If one of ’em shows his head above 
them rocks I’ll put a hole in him if I hang for 
it ; durned if I don ’t ! ” 

Sounds of wading below betokened the im- 
minence of a second attack. If Vance and his 
companion were to he shot at on their showing 
themselves to repel an assault, their defense 
was over, unless they rashly chose to sacrifice 
their lives. 

What could be done? The boy, execrating 
in his heart the pusillanimity of Baya, made up 
his mind, even while old man Tuggle was con- 
cluding his threats. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


167 


Drawing a long breath and compressing his 
lips, he sprang boldly upon the breastwork, and 
faced the astonished company below, the glare 
from the fires lighting np his determined feat- 
ures, as he shouted: 

‘^If you must kill some one, try me!’’ 

Half a dozen rifies were instantly leveled. 
Captain Birdwell and Uri broke into shouts of 
remonstrance. Vance stood motionless, his blue 
eyes fixed upon the men who were drawing 
bead. 

Bay a still crouched behind the rocks, keep- 
ing carefully out of sight. 

‘‘Don’t shoot, boys!” said old Tuggle, who 
seemed to be tacitly accepted as a leader. Then 
to Vance: “Confound you! What do you 
mean, boy?” 

mean that as long as we accidentally shot 
off a revolver, and you seem to want to kill some 
one for it, you can try your hand on me ! ” 

“You’re a fool— a plum fool!” replied the 
old man, evidently impressed by the young 
man’s pluck. “What did you shoot for?” 


168 


VANCE SEVIER. 


didn’t shoot, Mr. Mar— the man with me 
let his weapon go off accidentally, I think. But 
it won’t happen again. Take us if you can, hut 
let us quit shooting. It would be murder, 
and—” 

‘^Get down from there!” ordered old Tug- 
gle. ‘‘You’ve eat my bread, and I don’t want 
to kill you. Get down, or some blundering fool 
may up and forget himself. ’ ’ 

Vance sprang down, feeling satisfied that 
there would be no more shooting at present. 
He turned to Baya. 

“Unless you can refrain from firing, you had 
better let me take your revolver, ’ ’ he suggested. 
“Another such error and they would shoot us 
down without any further hesitation.” 

Baya clasped the boy’s hand effusively. He 
trembled, and Vance felt a sense of physical re- 
pulsion. 

“You are a brave fellow,” volunteered the 
man. “You have saved our lives. Yet let me 
keep my revolver; I will not fire again. But 
one needs a weapon in these woods. And— 


VANCE SEVIER. 


169 


Ah, my boy, you nearly told them I was Martel ! 
They might have been the more enraged—’’ 

A shout from below interrupted Baya. 

Vance turned from him without insisting 
upon the former’s giving up his revolver. 

‘Mjook here, young man!” called old Tug- 
gle. ^Mt’s getting along towards bedtime. If 
you will keep quiet, we-uns will let you alone 
till morning. ’ ’ 

‘^That is evidently a ruse,” thought Vance. 

^‘Tell them we will do as they suggest!” 
urged Baya, eagerly. ‘‘Both you and I need a 
good night’s sleep.” 

“Sleep!” Vance said, sarcastically. “If one 
of us, at least, does not keep a good watch, we 
will find ourselves prisoners before long.” 

“What do you say!” came from below. 

“All right,” replied Vance. “We are tired 
out. But see that you do not try to come up 
here meantime. If this is to be a truce, let 
it-” 

“Hold your talk! Didn’t we let up on you 


170 


VANCE SEVIER. 


just now? You see that you keep quiet up there 
and we’ll do the same down here.” 

That seemed to settle it to Baya’s notion, for 
he stretched himself just within the mouth of 
the cave; but Vance announced his intention of 
remaining on guard. 

‘‘All nonsense, my dear hoy!” said Baya. 
“Better lie down, for awhile at least. I, as 
your chief employer, give you permission.” 

“These men are not to be trusted, Mr. Martel. 
Go to sleep if you wish ; I shall remain awake. ’ ’ 

After a few desultory remonstrances, Baya 
gave up and appeared to fall asleep. For a 
long time his measured breathing rose and felh 
as Vance sat watching and thinking. For 
hours, it seemed, the youth remained alert and 
watchful, while below the fires died down, and 
as far as he could see the whole camp became 
wrapt in heavy slumber. 

But at last fatigue asserted a more complete 
sway over the boy. He nodded, dreamed at 
times, then awoke to a drowsy consciousness. 

During one of these slumbrous intervals he 


VANCE SEVIER. 


171 


dreamed that he was being robbed. Some one 
was going through his pockets with deft fingers. 
The sensation became so vivid that he half 
awoke, with a bright, large star shining full in 
his eyes and the echo of a faint, stealthy move- 
ment in his ear. He sprang to his feet and 
looked searchingly about. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE STRANGEK^S QUEER BEHAVIOR. 

The measured sound of breathing came from 
the entrance of the cave. The camp below 
seemed quiet. Then Vance noticed that his 
jacket was partially unbuttoned. 

^^How careless I am getting to be!’’ he 
thought, as he thumped his breast. ‘^No, it 
seems to be all right. ’ ’ 

Vance walked over and assured himself that 
his companion was still there, despite the pre- 
vious evidence afforded by the man’s breath- 
ing. 

Then he yawned, and realized more painfully 
than ever how tired he was. At the same time 
his mind yielded more than before to a semi- 
slumbrous sense of security. 

‘‘If Martel can take it so easy, why should I 
do all the watching?” he thought. 

172 



The three set off up the ridge, the stranger devouring his 
corn bread and bacon ravenously. 

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VANCE SEVIER. 


173 


In five minutes he was more soundly asleep 
than at any time previous. Half an hour 
passed, then Baya raised up his head, listened 
intently, and, gliding forward to Vance’s side, 
he carefully inspected the sleeping youth. Be- 
low all was also quiet. 

The supposed Martel cautiously unbuttoned 
the boy’s jacket, thrust his hand within and 
presently drew out a large leather wallet. 
Opening it, he retired into the cave some dis- 
tance, struck a match, and, by the brief light 
thus afforded, took out a thick, folded document 
of faded parchment. 

At sight of this his eyes sparkled and he 
thrust it into one of his own pockets. Then he 
took a folded document from his own bosom, 
that looked outwardly much like the one he had 
stolen, and placed it inside the wallet. Two 
matches he had used in making this stealthy 
transfer, interposing the while an angle of the 
rocky wall of the cave and his own person, to 
prevent the dim flare from being visible to any 
chance observer without. 


174 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Returning to the side of the soundly-sleeping 
hoy, he replaced the wallet where he had found 
it, rebuttoned the jacket and stole to the side 
of the rock platform where they had climbed 
up. Here he listened and looked so long that 
at last a movement below w^as heard. 

Some one was stealing into the surrounding 
bushes from the midst of the slumbering moun- 
tain men. 

At first Bay a thought it was the single sen- 
try, who had been posted close to the prisoners ; 
but in the still flickering firelight he distin- 
guished that functionary by the rifle he carried. 
The man was seated, leaning against a tree and 
apparently sound asleep. 

‘Ht must be one of the two prisoners slipping 
off,” thought Baya. ‘Hf he can get away, I 
ought to be able to. I have got what I came five 
hundred miles to secure, though I have had to 
resort to a rather risky trick to accomplish it. 
Now, if I can only find my way out of these in- 
fernal mountains and reach Waycross in safety, 
the two thousand dollar reward offered us by 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


175 


that arch scoundrel and speculator, Jed Sum- 
merlin, will go into my pocket. All seems quiet 
below again. Idl try it. If I fqllow this creek 
down stream far enough, I ought to reach 
Cranch’s by morning. There I can hire a con- 
veyance, gain the railroad by noon, skip out on 
the first train, and be safe in Georgia before 
that young fool Sevier knows where he is at. ’ ^ 

The man took a final look at Vance, who still 
slept soundly, then noiselessly descended to the 
foot of the clitf and disappeared within the for- 
est, without crossing the creek. 

Shortly before day Vance awoke. He sprang 
up, feeling vaguely alarmed at his lack of vig- 
ilance. Everything, however, seemed to be 
quiet below, though the fires had gone out and 
but little could be seen. The sound of numerous 
snorings came up to the young surveyor’s ears, 
assuring him that immediate hostilities on the 
part of the mountaineers were not contem- 
plated. 

might as well waken Mr. Martel, and let 
him do a little watching himself,” thought 


176 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Vance, rather resentfully, as he recalled Baya’s 
half cowardly and wholly selfish conduct dur- 
ing the fracas the night before. ‘‘We must con- 
sult upon what we had best do.’’ 

He entered the cave and felt for the supposed 
sleeper, but of course could not find any one. 
A thrill of genuine fear came over him at once. 
He searched here and there, at the same time 
calling Martel in a low tone, repeatedly. 

“VTiere can he be?” Vance asked himself, 
striking a match and looking anxiously about. 
‘ ‘ By George, he certainly is not here ! ’ ’ 

The boy went farther into the cave, striking 
matches as he went. No sign of Martel re- 
warded his efforts. Suddenly a thought pos- 
sessed Vance that made him tremble with ap- 
prehension. 

He drew forth the leather wallet, struck an- 
other match, and looked inside. The sight of 
the thick folded, faded parchment, which had 
been substituted by Baya for the one the latter 
had taken, reassured him. 

Vance heaved a sigh of relief, and did not try 


VANCE SEVIER. 


177 


just then to examine the document further. 

‘^The man has gone,’’ was his final conclu- 
sion. ‘‘Why did he go! Where did he go to! 
Something wrong there, I feel sure. In fact, 
I never liked his look and manner from the first, 
and I cannot see why he showed, such a decided 
preference for my society. He seems to have 
tired of me at last. What is that! A light, as 
I live. W^onder if it can be Mr. Martel coming 
back!” 

As Vance spoke, half aloud, a faint but in- 
creasing flicker of light appeared from the in- 
ner recesses of the cavern. As it advanced, 
weird shadows darted from one angle to an- 
other along the irregular sides of the cave. 

Presently some one appeared, holding a pine 
torch high above his head. In his other hand 
was a rifle. 

“Can it be Martel! Hullo— Uri! My dear 
fellow, this is good luck indeed!” 

Uri Tuggle it was. But the boy was pale and 
breathed hard. His clothing was torn by briers. 
But he shook hands heartily, and appeared to 


178 


VANCE SEVIER. 


be quite as glad as Vance over this strange en- 
counter. 

‘‘I thought you were a prisoner/’ said Vance. 
‘ ‘ How did you escape 1 ’ ’ 

‘‘Well, they tied me with green withes, and 
green withes can be stretched and loosened 
sometimes. They were all tired after their 
day’s tramp. Even John Catchings, who was 
left to stand guard, settled down against a tree 
and went to sleep. It was no trouble to get 
away. The trouble was to reach you. I was 
afraid to cross the creek, or loiter about the 
camp, for Louder wmuld have been sure to 
whine. So I slipped into the woods and came 
round the west side of the mountain. 

“Did not that take you into Dead Man’s 
Trap 1 ’ ’ 

“It carried me part way up the hollow that 
leads to the place. Then I had to climb up an- 
other cli:ff to reach the other opening of the 
cave. After that I had no trouble. But where 
is Mr. Martel? We must get out of this as soon 
as possible.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


179 


‘^Martel has gone. At least I cannot find 
him anywhere in here.’’ 

‘^That is strange,” mused Uri. ‘‘Was he 
with you all night?” 

“He lay down to rest while I stood guard. 
But I was like John Catchings— I finally fell 
asleep. When I awoke I could see by the seven 
stars that it was nearly day ; but Mr. Martel was 
gone. I have looked all around near the en- 
trance to this cave. True, he might have gone 
otf by the same way you came in.” 

“That is hardly likely. It takes almost a 
squirrel to go where I climbed up. But— we 
must hurry. Let Martel go for the present. 
Our own safety is at stake. .1 feel sure that as 
soon as father wakes, he will send men around 
to the place where I climbed up. It is a wonder 
he did not do so last night, but they were tired, 
and I guess he thought that neither of you two 
knew anything about the other entrance. But 
as soon as they discover my escape, they will 
take every precaution. Hark!” 


180 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘‘I believe they are waking np below/ ^ said 
Vance. 

Hurry then!’^ urged Uri. Don’t stop! 
You have your gun and haversack.” 

Responding to this earnest appeal, Vance fell 
in behind Uri, who immediately began retrac- 
ing his steps, holding up the torch so that the 
intense darkness of the underground passage 
was illumined sufficiently to enable them to 
walk with considerable speed. 

At times they had to crawl where the rocky 
ceiling dropped low. Sundry side seams 
opened here and there. But Uri pursued his 
way with a sort of instinct that finally brought 
them to a narrow opening, overgrown with 
briers and bushes. 

By this time day had dawned, and Vance 
uttered an expression of astonishment at the 
sight which greeted his eye, even at that early 
hour. Below was a narrow, winding gorge, its 
sides precipitous and gnarly with clinging 
shrubs and saplings. Over the opposite cliffs 
a wide view of the distant lowlands was had, 


VANCE SEVIER. 


3 81 

now hazy under the morning mists and dim in 
the yet uncertain light. 

But before he had time to dwell upon the 
strange majesty of the view and altitude, 
sounds were audible from the ravine below. 

‘^What did I tell you?’’ whispered Uri. 
^^They are coming up from the camp to cut us 
off. We are too late to escape up the gorge.” 

^^Vrhat had we better do then?” asked Vance. 
'•‘Looks to me as if we could neither go down 
nor up, unless one had wings or a rope.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A FLIGHT AND A STERN CHASE. 

Uri pointed to an irregular chain of saplings 
below. 

climbed up there,” he said. ‘‘It looks 
difficult, I allow. But there are men with my 
father who will make little of such difficulties. 
Yet, as you say, we need wings or a rope to 
reach the top of this clitf . ’ ’ 

Prom the half-hidden mouth of the cave some 
sixty or seventy feet separated the two young 
fellows from the summit of the mountain on 
this side of the gorge. But it was too perpen- 
dicular to be scaled. The friendly shrubbery 
below gave out. Nothing but bare, forbidding 
rock loomed down on them, and Vance felt that . 
their chance of escape looked gloomier than 
ever. Uri was considering. 


182 


VANCE SEVIER. 


183 


have he at length said. ‘^Take out 
your knife, Vance, and help me cut a few of 
these long, slender beech saplings. Don’t cut 
any larger round than your thumb at the small 
end. We may need them to escape from Dead 
Man’s Trap.” 

Without in the least comprehending TJri’s 
plan, Vance unquestioningly obeyed, and they 
soon had the required amount of saplings cut 
and trimmed. Uri fell to splitting them care- 
fully from end to end. 

Meanwhile the party below had come in 
sight, disclosing Wolf Renfro and two others. 
They halted beneath the cave and looked up. 
Apparently they did not anticipate any opposi- 
tion here, for their movements were careless 
and their conversation unguarded. 

^‘Keep back out of sight,” cautioned Uri. 
‘^Let us hear what they have to say.” 

After a few moments’ conversation that the 
boys could not understand, owing to the dis- 
tance, Renfro himself began to climb up. His 


184 


VANCE SEVIER. 


companions followed, one after another, their 
rifles slung to their backs. 

Meanwhile the boys, under Uri’s direction, 
had removed every trace of their presence as 
far as possible, with the exception of the stumps 
of the severed saplings. As the men came 
nearer their words could be understood. 

‘ ^ If we are right smart we will surprise them 
fellers yet,^^ volunteered Wolf. ‘^Town chaps 
ain’t apt to rise early, and we know they must 
have been plum tuckered out last night.” 

‘‘Do you reckon thar’s more than one of 
’em!” queried a second climber. “For all we 
know, that young chap might have been lyin’ 
when he talked about some one else shootin’ off 
that revolver.” 

“Shucks! Didn’t I see two on ’em when I 
climbed up last night!” 

“I dunno. You come down in such a hurry,” 
began Wolf, with a coarse laugh, “that we don’t 
know whether you had time to see anything.” 

“Dry up, Renfro! You’d ’a come down, too, 
if you’d ’a got such a trippin’ as I got. Dang 


VANCE SEVIER. 


185 


it all! That youngster they call Vance is a— 

‘‘Hush up, will youT^ interrupted Wolf. 
‘ ‘ Some one may be listening. Here we are ! ’ ’ 

So saying, he drew himself through the briers 
on the rock floor of the cavern’s entrance, then 
helped his companions up. There was no one 
but themselves in sight. But they quickly no- 
ticed the stumps of the beech saplings. 

“Some one’s been here,” said one. “What 
had we better do. Wolf!” 

“They are somewhere inside this cave, for 
there is only two outlets. If we leave you here 
to watch this opening, do you reckon you can 
keep any one from passing?” 

Jim Jones, the man addressed, stretched out 
a pair of long, sinewy arms, and laughed in a 
self-assured manner. 

“If any one passes me it’ll be because I’m 
dead. Vance Sevier ain’t thro wed me yet, 
though he has given you a taste of what he can 
do.” 

“Don’t brag, Jim. We’ll see how you come 
out when we get back.” 


186 


VANCE SEVIER. 


While speaking, Renfro had lighted a torch 
and presently departed, accompanied by one 
man, leaving the self-confident Jim Jones to 
prevent any escape in his direction. The two 
hurried off, flashing the light hastily into the 
nooks and passages as they went. 

Renfro himself felt confident that the fugi- 
tives were at the other end of the cave, as being 
the point where danger would seem most natur- 
ally to threaten. 

Jim Jones grasped his long rifle with a firm 
grip, but before he knew what was happening, 
a pair of strong young arms seized him from 
behind, giving his lank body a shrewd, quick 
twist. At the same time Jim^s legs became 
strangely entangled with a swiftly inserted foot. 
He measured his length upon the hard floor of 
the cavern, as a consequence of these manoeu- 
vres, before he had time to think about open- 
ing his mouth. 

Once down, he felt ashamed to ^‘holler,” es- 
pecially when he saw that his antagonist was 
but little more than a boy. A second youth 


VANCE SEVIER. 


187 


forced a gag, made of beech bark, into Jim’s 
month. 

The mountaineer now exerted his great 
strength, and a severe struggle took place, 
punctuated only by puffing, pantings and low- 
toned exclamations, such as men indulge in 
when undergoing the hardest kind of muscular 
contention. 

The result was both surprising and mortify- 
ing to Mr. Jones, for he presently found himself 
stretched, helpless and voiceless, with strong 
withes around his arms and legs and an effec- 
tual gag in his mouth. 

He lay quiet, and looked with more curiosity 
than alarm at Vance and Uri, who, though con- 
siderably winded, lost little time in preparing 
to leave the spot. 

Uri, having tied up his bundle of split-beech 
saplings, threw them down the cliff. Vance 
gathered up their few belongings, inspected 
Jim’s bonds once more, and listened keenly for 
any sign of the return of Renfro and his com- 
panion. 


188 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘‘Sorry to treat you this way, Jim,’’ said 
Uri. “But you leave us no other course.” 

Jim gurgled unintelligibly. It is likely that, 
had his thoughts been tangibly expressed, he 
would have surprised the boys with the volu- 
bility and variety of his imprecations. 

“Ready, Vance! All right! Follow me. We 
must lose no time.” 

Uri let himself down the cliff, swinging from 
sapling to bush with almost the agility of a 
squirrel. Vance followed, with a celerity 
heightened by genuine alarm, for so rude and 
relentless had he found these mount^neers, that 
he dreaded more than ever falling into their 
hands. 

“I feel confident that the only reason they 
refrained from using their rifles last night was 
from fear of the penalty that might attach to 
murder. It was not pity, nor a merciful for- 
bearance. ’ ’ 

When Vance expi*essed these sentiments to 
Uri, as they hurried up the glen after descend- 


VANCE SEVIER. 


189 


ing the cliff, the mountain boy shrugged his 
shoulders, but made no reply. 

When they were a mile away, they heard a 
wild shout in the rear. 

‘‘We are followed,’’ said Uri. “Wolf has 
found Jones, and the three are as mad as wet 
cats.” 

The ravine narrowed into a sort of canyon, 
with high, rocky walls, almost bare of vegeta- 
tion. They tramped along the dry bed of what 
was plainly a winter torrent, when the January 
rains and thaws melted the gathering snows on 
the high plateau above. 

From the occasional shouts behind, the boys 
understood that they were being pursued by 
Wolf and his assistants, who were doubtless too 
angry at Jones’ defeat to send for or await re- 
inforcements. 

At last the canyon narrowed into a mere 
gorge with perpendicular walls. Just before 
reaching the summit of the plateau, they came 
to an ice-cold spring, welling from the base of 
one side of the gorge, which was here not more 


190 


VANCE SEVIER. 


than half a dozen yards in width, with walls 
on either hand rising a hundred or more feet, 
and clearly unscalable, except with wings, ropes 
or ladders. 

A number of boulders lay across the dry bed 
of the torrent, with sundry open spaces be- 
tween. Uri began to roll some of the more 
manageable rocks into these spaces. 

Vance helped, at the same time asking: 

‘‘VTiat is your plan, my friend? To hold the 
fort?^’ 

‘^For a time. We have the spring inside of 
our defenses, and the open mountain-top be- 
hind. They cannot get behind us, and they will 
have to send back for help. That will only leave 
two, at most, to keep tab on us. Then we must 
contrive to leave unobserved.” 

^^DonT see how we will do it,” objected 
Vance. ‘‘Looks to me as if we had better skip 
while times are propitious.” 

“Well, I want to get away, if possible, with- 
out their following us too closely. We have 
got to adopt some risky methods in order to get 


VANCE SEVIER. 


191 


clear off, and we ought to have some time in 
which to work without interruption. Listen! 
Does that not sound as if there were more than 
three men after us nowV’ 

From down the gorge came a perfect whirl- 
wind of yells, as if a number of other voices had 
been added to those of Wolf and his two aids. 
Then the well-known haying that had dogged 
them yesterday suddenly floated up the canyon. 
All these sounds were alarmingly near. 

The boys stopped rolling rocks and looked at 
each other. 

Father is smarter than I thought,’’ said 
Uri. ‘^He has not waited for Wolf to send 
back, but has dispatched others after the first 
party. We must ^run for it,’ after all, Vance.” 

As he spoke, Uri shouldered his bundle of 
split saplings, and, rifle in hand, started up the 
gorge. 

‘‘Are you pretty long-winded?” he asked. 
“We have half a mile to go, and we must reach 
a certain spot in time to arrange these sap- 
lings. ’ ’ 


192 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘^Take your own gait. I will endeavor to 
keep up/^ was the reply, as the two emerged 
from the gorge on to an undulating plateau of 
some extent, covered with loose rocks, low 
bushes and scattered bunch grass. 

The shouts behind suddenly increased. The 
pursuers had arrived at the spring and the half- 
improvised breastwork. Hardly a quarter of 
a mile intervened between the two parties. 

^‘See yonder string of birch trees T’ said Uri, 
pointing, as they ran, to an irregular line of 
timber that appeared to fringe one side of the 
plateau. We must try to reach them without 
being seen.’^ 

‘‘Faster, faster, then!^’ urged Vance, in- 
creasing his speed as much as he could. 

Uri responded, and the two flew across the 
rough, open ground at a really marvelous burst 
of speed. 

The view from the summit of Snow Bird 
Mountain was grand and interesting, but Vance 
had no time to dwell upon it, and to Uri it was 


VANCE SEVIER. 


193 


too old a sight to be more than of passing in- 
terest. 

Three States and a score of counties were 
clearly visible. The far-off Tennessee Valley 
on one hand, and on the other a hundred miles 
of blue, serrated mountain peaks, with a wil- 
derness of billowy, forest-clad ridges between, 
comprised the salient features, though a filmy 
outline of pearl-gray shadow in the west de- 
noted the distant Cumberland plateau. 

Nearer and nearer appeared the birches. 
Uri looked back, in response to a louder shout 
from behind. 

‘‘Down on your knees, said Uri. “We 
must crawl the rest of the way. Where we 
crossed that big rock will puzzle the dogs for a 
minute or two, and give us time to reach the 
timber, providing we are not seen before they 
straighten out after us again, 

They had thrown themselves down and were 
crawling rapidly. The broken quartz and 
crumbly slate cut their hands and knees, but in 


194 


VANCE SEVIER. 


their excitement they noticed no bodily discom- 
fort. 

From the confusion of voices and the whining 
of dogs, they knew that the pursuit had been 
temporarily delayed at the edge of an ex- 
tremely rocky interval, where the scent lay un- 
usually light. 

^‘Ah, here we are!” Uri rose to his feet be- 
hind the first of the larger trees. ^‘Now, down 
this slope for a hundred yards.” 

As Vance followed, he looked back, catching 
a flying glimpse of a number of human heads 
and shoulders, bobbing about, as he did so. 

A fiercer shout saluted their ears as the hoys 
flung themselves down the precipitous slope, 
catching at hushes and saplings as they went, 
to break the violence of their headlong flight. 

^ ‘ They saw us just as we rose, I reckon, ’ ’ said 
Uri, who made better headway at this danger- 
ous method of flight than his less experienced 
companion. 

Vance saw him stop and begin to knot the 


VANCE SEVIER. 


195 


split saplings together by sundry withes of 
green bark depending from the ends. 

^^Here!^^ cried Uri. ^^Take hold. Be care- 
ful you tie them true. We have no time to 
spare. ’ ’ 

^‘Why— why— began Vance, dismayed at 
the sudden prospect immediately before. ‘‘Can 
we go any farther ? ^ ^ 

“Bet your neck we can! That is, if they do 
not come up with us before we finish this job. 
Hurry now, Vance. DonT question me. I am 
doing the best that can be done under the cir- 
cumstances. ’ ’ 

“I don’t doubt it. Where you go I will fol- 
low. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XVII. 


OVER THE SUMMIT OF SNOW BIRD. 

Uri flung one end of the knotted beech splits 
over another clitf, the sight of which had mo- 
mentarily dismayed young Sevier. Then he 
tied the upper end firmly to a tree trunk. 

will go first,’’ he said. ‘Ht might give 
way, you know.” 

‘^You shall not,” declared Vance, impul- 
sively. ‘^Your life is of as much importance as 
mine. Out of the way, Uri. But for sticking 
to me, you would not be in this scrape.” 

But Uri would not yield, and, after pushing 
Vance back, he suddenly swung himself over 
the edge of the cliff. Hand over hand, he rap- 
idly descended, using also his knees and feet in 
clinging to the swaying line. Fortunately, 
nothing broke. 


196 


VANCE SEVIER. 


3 97 

Presently Uri sent up a shout of safety, and 
Vance, strapping his rifle to his hack, began to 
let himself down. As his face disappeared be- 
low the edge of the bluff, he could see the heads 
of their pursuers scattering along the crest of 
the plateau, for the dogs had shown a disincli- 
nation to descend the steep slope down which 
the boys had come, thus momentarily puzzling 
the pursuit for the second time. 

The rudely improvised rope stood this second 
strain until Vance had reached within twenty 
feet of where Uri was standing. The latter, 
who was anxiously looking up, saw one of the 
divisions begin to part, strand after strand. 

‘‘Straighten out, Vance,*’ he called. “Let 
yourself fall naturally. I will try to break the 
Torce.” 

Plump! Down came Vance, with a part of 
the rope in his hands. Uri deftly caught the 
descending figure, despite the protruding rifle 
slung from Vance’s shoulder. 

Both youths came to the ground and rolled 


198 


VANCE SEVIER. 


over. Then they rose, somewhat disheveled, 
but unhurt. 

‘‘Come on,” spoke Uri. “Don’t stop for any- 
thing. It takes a rope to get out of Dead Man’s 
Trap, when the gorge is blockaded. ’ ’ 

Vance found that they were scurrying down 
a broad though gentler slope of upland, divided 
into rolling spurs, and thickly clad with timber. 
Many large stumps here and there denoted that 
the lumbermen had been there. While running, 
Vance wondered how the large logs were ever 
gotten to the sawmills from these far-away up- 
lands. 

“Now that no bones are broken,” said Uri, 
“I am glad the rope parted. It may cause those 
fellows to halt a bit, and give us more time to 
get away.” 

“How are we going to dodge them, in case 
they come the same way I did, without stopping 
to make repairs 1” asked Vance. 

“W^ell, it depends on the state of the water, 
and whether we find the flume in good fix.” 

“I hardly understand.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


199 


Vance looked round in vain to find any sign 
indicating water, but only wooded ridges, 
stretching gradually downward on every hand, 
met his eye. 

The boys were following the trend of one of 
these spurs, which showed an inclination on the 
left to break olf into one of the cliffs so com- 
mon in the vicinity of ^‘old Snow Bird.’^ 

‘‘You see there isn’t much rain falling this 
season,” explained Uri. “Now and then a 
heavy shower comes up here, that raises the 
branches for a few hours. So the lumbermen 
usually quit work until a more rainy time of 
year. It takes water to shoot the chutes.” 

Vance hardly comprehending the meaning of 
this narration of Uri’s, did not ask more just 
then, for a savage yell from the cliffs in their 
rear spurred them to such exertions of speed 
that continued conversation was hardly pos- 
sible. 

Shooting the chutes sounded vaguely danger- 
ous. But their life for the last day or two had 
been so exciting that the obscure hint of an un- 


200 


VANCE SEVIER. 


comprehended danger did not create much 
nervousness now. 

Uri led the way down the side of the ridge, 
obliquely. From the noise in their rear the 
boys felt sure that the more venturesome of 
their pursuers had descended the ‘^rope.’^ It 
was doubtful if the dogs could be brought down, 
however. Thus, should the fugitives succeed in 
keeping out of sight, they stood a fair chance of 
distancing pursuit, unless, as Uri said, some of 
them should divine his probable intention and 
plunge ahead, regardless of being possibly mis- 
taken. 

Still leading the way, Uri wheeled sharply 
round the end of a shallow precipice, clambered 
down a steep bluff and leaped down upon one 
of a hundred or more logs that had been rolled 
down the sides of the ridges into a narrow 
ravine. Here a heavy platform stood beside the 
upper end of a large three-cornered trough, on 
trestles, that extended down the hollow and 
was lost to view amid the trees. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


201 


From under tlie cliff several springs of water 
sent their now diminished volume through hol- 
low logs into the V-shaped trough, while a rivu- 
let trickled down from somewhere above in the 
centre of a wider channel of pebbles and gravel, 
that marked the course of a larger stream dur- 
ing the rainy season. 

^ ^ A lumber flume ! ’ ’ ejaculated Vance. ‘ ‘ Now 
I begin to understand. Where does it go to, 
Urir^ 

‘‘It strikes the Tellico near Maple Springs.’’ 

“I suppose you have some scheme in view, 
such as floating a message to those who may 
help us—” 

“Come, Vance. I gave you credit for more 
penetration than that.” 

By this time they had arrived at the head of 
the flume, the sides of which were probably five 
feet high. A stream of water filled the trough 
to a third of its depth. This Uri inspected 
anxiously, and his expression was dubious as 
he turned away to scrutinize the logs on the 


202 


VANCE SEVIER. 


platform, one of which, a long, light poplar, he 
at once selected. 

‘^Help me, now,’’ he said, seizing one of sev- 
eral cant-hooks that had been left by the loggers 
under the shelter of the rough bark roof that 
covered a portion of the platform. ‘‘I want to 
put this log in the chute as quickly as it can be 
done. Don ’t you hear those shouts 1 ’ ’ 

The two, under Uri’s superintendence, soon 
launched the log in question. The latter 
dropped his cant-hook and held the log with 
both hands as he scrutinized the stream. 

^ ^ How are you going to put your message on 
that thing?” asked Vance. 

Uri laughed, and let the log go. It started 
rather gently, but soon increased its impetus, 
rolling heavily to and fro as it plunged down 
the swift current. An occasional bump and rise 
denoted that the stream was barely deep enough 
to admit of its passage. As it finally whirled 
out of sight half a mile below, Uri heaved a sigh 
of mingled relief and concern. He seized the 
cant-hook. 


VANGE SEVIER. 


203 


‘^Now, Vance, he said, ‘Hhis is the one I 
have selected for our own experiment. Handle 
her carefully. There— easy, now. Don’t let 
her roll into the chute too quickly. Now— catch 
hold. Don’t let her slide.” 

They had rolled a still lighter log into the 
flume, where both boys stood holding it against 
the current. 

‘M still don’t see how you are going to send a 
message in this way,” said Vance. ‘‘Hear 
those fellows! They must be making for this 
place on a venture. We have no time to lose — ” 

“Right you are. Jump on this log, Vance — 
the rear end. I will take a front seat, and 
steer—” 

“Wh— at!” exclaimed the young surveyor. 
“You cannot mean for us to shoot this flume 
ourselves— and on a log, tool” 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

SHOOTING THE FLUME. 

At this juncture loud cries were heard from 
the top of the cliff, around which the two fugi- 
tives had descended to the flume. Men were 
running along the crest of the blutf, their fig- 
ures glancing around the trees. Several of 
them found the trail. At the time Vance ut- 
tered his amazed inquiry, two of the pursuers 
swung themselves down from bush to bush. 
They were Wolf Renfro and Bascom Tuggle. 

‘^On with you!” shouted Uri. ‘‘No time for 
questions now I ’ ’ 

Vance obeyed, his conceptions in a whirl, 
though his bodily activity was never greater. 
Uri vaulted on in front. The log rolled, dipped 
and started, the shoulders of the boys showing 
above the sides of the flume. 


204 


VANCE SEVIER. 


205 


‘^Hey there! Stop, you blamed fools!’’ they 
heard Bascom Tuggle shout. 

‘^Are they plum crazy!” asked Renfro, who, 
after a brief stare of amazement, quickly 
brought his rifle to his shoulder. 

But the long barrel was struck up, though the 
weapon cracked while the bullet flew into the 
upper air. 

“That are my brother as you are shooting 
at,” growled Tuggle. 

Wolf swore roundly, glared defiantly at his 
companion, then looked after the rapidly-dis- 
appearing fugitives, whose chance for life 
seemed just then exceedingly small, even to the 
rugged mountaineers. 

“Reckon we may as well go back,” remarked 
a third man who had come down the bluff. 
“Them boys are plucky, even if they be orn- 
ery. ’ ’ 

“It is a lucky thing we sent part of our men 
down the creek to Maple Springs,” said Bas- 
com Tuggle. “If they get there in time, father 
may bag them fellers yet. But I say, men, Uri 


206 


VANCE SEVIER. 


has got grit, if he is too cantankerous to live. 
I Ve seen many a log shot down that shute, but 
I never seen one go with a boy on it afore. I 
hope the fools won’t kill theirselves. ” 

After this brief concession to brotherly anxi- 
ety, he ordered the men to turn about and take 
a circuitous trail through the descending ridges, 
that would finally bring them back to Wild Cat 
Ford without the fatigue attendant upon re- 
crossing Snow Bird. 

Meanwhile the two boys found themselves 
embarked upon a voyage the like of which 
neither of them had ever contemplated before. 

Had Uri thought much about the trip, it is 
not likely that he would have undertaken it. 
Men had descended the flume before, but it had 
been when the water was higher and in a three- 
cornered, planked flume boat, built especially 
to shoot the flume. 

But seated astride an unwieldly log, with 
scarce water enough to keep it from bumping 
dangerously as it flew along, was quite another 
thing. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


207 


Uri kept his legs outstretched on either side, 
yet not sti:ffened, so as to make the log sheer 
away gently when it too closely approached 
either side of the chute. An occasional upward 
push was necessary when their cranky craft 
rolled too deeply. 

Vance, though his brain was bewildered and 
his courage severely tested by the imminent 
possibilities of disaster that constantly threat- 
ened, soon saw what Uri was doing and imitated 
him dexterously, thus lessening the chance of a 
capsize, with its attendant risk of broken bones. 

Were either boy to he thrown from his seat 
there was almost a certainty of his being 
crushed by the log against the sides of the flume, 
so unwieldy was the weight of their craft and 
so dizzy the speed they soon attained. 

On, on, ever gently, yet surely downward, 
they flew, sometimes on one side of the ravine, 
then on the other, passing finally across a lower 
ridge, then seemingly hanging in midair for one 
brief dizzy interval, and at times, as the flume 


208 


VANCE SEVIER. 


curved, pushing frantically with one leg or the 
other to keep the weight of the log from grind- 
ing a limb to pulp. 

Now and then a ponderous bump from one 
end or the other would unsettle them from their 
seats. Once a closer swerve than usual quite 
shook Vance off the log. 

As he clung with both hands, his weight made 
the log keep turning. Uri glanced back and saw 
Vance clinging to the end of the log with all his 
might. He had not called out, believing that 
Uri had all he could do to retain his own seat 
and keep the front end free from the walls of 
the flume. 

‘^Hang on, Vance— don’t give up!” encour- 
aged the mountain boy, filled with a new, ab- 
sorbing anxiety for his friend. 

And Vance did hang on. It was almost mir- 
aculous how he escaped injury by being flung 
against the flume in that wild, whirling ride. 
Not only that, but he, inch by inch, began to pull 
himself back upon the log. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


209 


Time and again Ms aching muscles threat- 
ened utter collapse; but he would not give in. 
At last Uri, taking another flying backward 
glance, saw Vance lying flat on the top of the 
log. Uri felt relieved. He knew Vance would 
make it now. 

In this way, mile after mile glided by, with 
the forest growing thinner and the ravines 
higher, as the altitude decreased. The air grew 
gradually warmer and the slope of the flume 
more nearly level, as they approached the bot- 
tom land along this portion of the river. The 
speed slowly decreased, so that both boys were 
able to look about them and take things a little 
easier. 

Vance, having been entirely submerged, had 
lost his haversack, and his gun and cartridges 
were soaking. One leg was bruised, and every 
bone in him felt as if it had been strained to the 
point of breaking by his long struggles to re- 
gain his seat on the log. Yet he felt greatly re- 
lieved in mind, and his spirits were still high. 


210 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘‘How far have we come, he asked, as 

they swept into a wider hollow, where the flume 
ran still more nearly on a level and their speed 
was hardly as fast as a man would run. 

‘ ‘ About eleven miles, ’ ’ was the reply. ‘ ‘ How 
long do you suppose we have been doing the 
tripr^ 

“Tell you the truth, XJri, I have been so 
badly scared, I do not know. It may have been 
an hour, or even less. ’ ’ 

“When the waters are up and the flume is 
full, the logs come down in fifty minutes, they 
say; but we have hardly gone so fast.” 

They floated more slowly still, until their 
speed was less than that of a man walking. 
Finally, they ran up against the log which they 
had sent ahead as a pilot. It had got jammed 
against the limb of a tree that had fallen into 
the flume. 

“Let us get out and walk on,” suggested Uri. 
“We must hurry down to the river and keep on 


VANCE SEVIER. 


211 


until we can reach help. Looks to me as if we 
ought to run upon Captain BirdwelPs men be- 
fore long.’^ 

The boys left their log, and, after wringing 
out their clothing, pouring the water from their 
shoes and otherwise partly drying their ac- 
coutrements and weapons, struck out down a 
bridle trail that soon brought them to the log 
boom on the Tellico, where the logs coming 
down the flume were caught and held. A wagon 
road from here on followed the river bank. 

^^This looks as if we were going to arrive 
somewhere at last,’^ said Vance, stepping out 
briskly. must say, a wagon-track never 
looked more inviting to me before. What do 
you suppose Renfro, your father and the others 
think of us by this timeT^ 

‘^They evidently thought we were pretty 
rash, for I notice that none of them saw fit to 
follow us down the flume.’’ 

Half a mile below the boom they rounded a 
shoulder of mountain and came suddenly upon 


212 


VANCE SEVIER. 


a sawmill. No hands were at work, and the ma- 
chinery was idle. An air of transient desertion 
hovered about the spot. Two or three 
shacks,’^ built of rough lumber, for the ac- 
commodation of the mill-hands, were empty. 
The lumber season had not yet begun. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE FOUR MOUNTAINEERS. 

Vance and Uri stepped inside and went 
through the mill. The large circular saw was 
swathed in cold tallow, and the ponderous car- 
riage was locked. 

The boys walked out to the edge of the dam 
in order to obtain a view up and down the river. 
But scenery soon palls upon one when weari- 
ness and hunger are asserting their sway. Even 
Vance began to grumble. 

hope we shall strike something to eat be- 
fore long, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ^ The few crumbs left from 
our yesterday’s luncheon only aggravated 
me. ’ ’ 

As Uri made no answer, Vance turned to look 
at his friend, and saw him intently gazing up 
the road which they had just traveled. 


213 


214 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Two persons had just come in sight round the 
bend. One was a well-grown girl ; the other was 
a short, fat man, who waddled as he ran— for 
they were hastening at the top of their speed, 
and both seemed to he greatly exhausted, 

‘‘VHia is itr^ asked Vance, unable as yet to 
recognize either. 

‘‘Look,’^ exclaimed Uri— ‘4ook! I believe we 
are in for lively times again.’’ 

The man and girl were now half-way to the 
mill from the point where Uri had first seen 
them. Behind them, four men, armed with 
guns, were just appearing in sight. 

The boys examined their rifles to make sure 
that their cartridges were dry enough to fire, 
then started toward the road. The fugitive 
couple came nearer, so that Vance recognized 
the girl. 

‘‘Arizony!” he ejaculated. ‘‘But who is the 
other one?” 

“We must show fight now!” decided Uri. “I 
cannot let them hurt Arizony.” 

“No, surely not!” assented Vance, as they 


VANCE SEVIER. 


215 


ran forward and met the two others just where 
the road turned into the mill. 

A pile of breast-high lumber stood handy, and 
the boys ushered the fugitives behind this shel- 
ter, at the same time greeting Arrzony cordi- 
ally. 

The four men had halted warily two hundred 
yards away, and were consulting. 

The fat man sat down heavily and fanned 
himself. 

Well, boys,’^ said he, ‘^whoever you are, we 
are mighty glad to see you— eh, ArizonyT’ 

‘‘Indeed, we are, sir! This is Vance Sevier, 
and this is my brother Uri— the very two we 
came out to find.’’ 

The fat man sprang up as quickly as he could 
and shook hands heartily with both hoys. 

“Glad to see you— very glad! Martel is my 
name. I see you are both safe and—” 

‘ ‘ Do you mean to say that your name is Mar- 
tel!” interrupted Vance; while Uri was also 
surveying the fat man in amazenient. 

“Do I mean to say that my name is Martel!” 


216 


VANCE SEVIEK. 


he repeated ironically. ‘‘Well, rather! Ask 
Arizony. She knows. ’ ’ 

“Yes, boys,’’ assured the girl. “He’s got 
lots of letters in his satchel, addressed to John 
Martel. That other fellow must have been de- 
ceiving us for some reason or other. Where is 
he? Did he do anything he hadn’t ought to 
do?” 

Uri was laughing quietly at their mistake, 
though Vance gazed at the real Martel, as if he 
could hardly straighten out the mental tangle 
into which he had fallen. 

“It is very odd,” he said, at length. “A 
man, who appeared to be all right, came to us 
yesterday and said he was John Martel, of the 
firm of Prather & Martel, New York. He was 
particularly friendly with me, but last night he 
mysteriously disappeared. ’ ’ 

“Didn’t say his name was Anton Baya, did 
he?” asked the fat man, quickly, whereat Vance 
started. “Didn’t give you a business card like 
this, eh?” 

And he handed Sevier the card bearing the 


VANCE SEVIER. 


217 


names of, ^‘Barton & Baya, Fernandina and 
Waycross.^’ 

<<My goodness! I— I—’’ began Vance, star- 
ing qnestioningly at each one in turn, then 
breaking off and beginning to search himself 
wildly, growing apparently more frantic and 
alarmed at each move of his hands. 

‘ ^ Take it easy, lad, ’ ^ advised Mr. Martel, see- 
ing that something serious was wrong. ‘^Have 
you lost anything?” 

By this time Vance had produced the long 
leather wallet, which he eagerly opened. At 
sight of the folded, faded parchment, a look of 
intense relief passed over his face. Martel, not- 
ing this, suggested: 

‘‘Better look thoroughly, if you think you 
miss anything.” 

Vance drew out the folded parchment, and 
instantly his brow clouded. He had already 
noted that something was wrong. Hurriedly, 
and with shaking hands, he unfolded it, took 
one look, then dropped it and the wallet, at the 
same time uttering a cry of dismay. 


218 


VANCE SEVIER. 


The inside of the parchment was blank. It 
was merely a piece of yellow, folded sheepskin, 
without value or special meaning. 

^^My poor boy!” said Martel, kindly; for 
Vance had hidden his face in his hands and his 
frame was shaking under an emotion that he 
with difficulty suppressed. ^ ‘ Have you met with 
any serious loss?” 

Hands up, every dog-gone one of you!” ex- 
claimed a gruff voice. 

This order operated like an electric shock 
upon the group behind the lumber pile, except 
Vance, who did not even look up. 

So absorbed had Uri, Arizony and Mr. Mar- 
tel become in the young surveyor’s distress, 
that the four men out in the road had been, for 
the time being, forgotten. And now four long 
rifles were pointed at them over the lumber pile, 
and four grim-looking mountaineers were eying 
them as if, upon the slightest manifestation of 
refractoriness, a deadly volley would be forth- 
coming. 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


119 


Up went three pair of hands. Vance re- 
mained inattentive. 

‘‘Drop that rifle, young man!^’ commanded 
the spokesman, to Vance Sevier. “It don’t 
look as if you needed it, just now.” 

Vance let his gun fall. One of the mountain- 
eers came around and picked up the three rifles. 
Arizony apparently had no weapon. She was 
a girl, and thoroughly insignificant, according 
to mountain ideas. 

“Now, sirs!” continued the leader; “and 
you, too, Arizony; fall in line, one behind the 
other. We must be getting on.” 

“Look here, men!” expostulated Mr. Martel. 
“We are not engaged in any wrongdoing. 
What will you take to let us off? How much 
money, I mean?” 

“Don’t know. Can’t do anything without the 
say of the rest. You all must go ’long with us. 
Come ; no time for fooling ! Night will soon be 
here.” 

The four drove their prisoners out into the 
road, then continued on down the river. Dur- 


220 


VANCE SEVIER. 


ing the march, Vance appeared to be indifferent 
to his surroundings, being entirely wrapped up 
in his own private grief, caused, it would seem, 
by the conduct and disappearance of Baya. 
Uri related to his sister and Martel their recent 
adventures : 

‘‘For a while Vance suffered with thirst; so 
did I, though not so much. But we reached a 
spring, and since then we have only been mighty 
hungry. Haven’t got anything to eat, have 
you, ArizonyF’ 

The girl produced some bread and meat, the 
remains of the lunch she had brought along 
when Martel and herself stole away from the 
Tuggle cabin early that morning, in search of 
the two boys whom they had so unexpectedly 
met. 

“We were making our way toward Wild Cat 
Ford,” Arizony explained. “We saw these 
men at a distance, about two hours ago. They 
kept us in sight, and were so ugly I made up my 
mind that Mr. Martel and I would strike for the 
river and go up another trail toward old Snow 


VANCE SEVIER. 


223 


Bird. Why don’t you eat, Vance?” she added, 
don’t feel hungry just now.” 

‘‘But you did a while ago,” interposed Uri. 
“We both said we were about starved. Bat a 
bit to keep up your strength.” 

Vance made an effort to comply, though it 
was plain to be seen that his distress of mind 
had taken away his appetite. Mr. Martel re- 
garded him sympathetically. 

‘ ‘ My poor boy, ’ ’ he said, “if it will ease your 
mind, pray let me hear the nature of your 
trouble. You know that you are, in a way, an 
employee of mine. Perhaps I can assist in put- 
ting things right. ’ ’ 

Mr. Martel then went on to tell about his own 
encounter with Bay a, and the general impres- 
sion among the four captives was that Baya 
must have been following Vance for some time, 
with the purpose of doing the mischief he now 
seemed to have accomplished. 

Vance, listening, brightened somewhat. The 
four mountaineers gave a sort of stolid atten- 
tion, though never relaxing their vigilance. 


222 


VANCE SEVIER. 


is the use of my explaining T’ said the 
youth, with a sigh. ‘‘It concerns only family 
affairs at my home down in Georgia, and con- 
victs me, I fear, of gross carelessness in a mat- 
ter greatly affecting our interests.’’ 

Mr. Martel scrutinized the young surveyor, 
then shrewdly dropped the subject, merely say- 
ing: 

“Well, well! There is no hurry. Later on 
you can let us know how we may serve you. 
Meanwhile, we are in rather of a bad fix our- 
selves.” 

He turned to their captors. 

“What are you arresting us for ? What have 
we done? You can at least let us know what 
you want of us, eh?” 

“All we can say is this,” replied one huge, 
muscular fellow, with a good-humored face. 
“We gets our orders from our leaders— this 
boy’s father and Wolf Renfro. They told us 
to watch the forks of the trail going to the Ford, 
and to stop these boys, or any one else who was 
acting in a suspicious manner. Well, that’s just 


VANCE SEVIER. 


223 


what we Ve done. We Ve got to hold these boys 
until old man Tuggle gets here, though how 
they got down from Snow Bird on this side, 
without running up against our main party, 
puzzles me. Say, boys, how did you get down? 
It won T hurt you to tell, I reckon. ’ ’ 

^‘Nothing easier, Tom Catchings. We came 
down the Wacheesa Lumber Company’s flume 
on a log. ’ ’ 

‘‘The nation you did!” Catchings and his 
companions looked incredulous. “You don’t 
expect a feller to swaller that, I hope.” 

“Just as you choose. We’re here, at any 
rate, and only our own carelessness enabled 
you to get the drop. And down the flume we 
came. W^hat do you think my father will do 
with us, Tom?” 

“No knowing, Uri. The old man is powerful 
mad.” 

“Where are you taking us to now?” 

“Well, we calculate the rest of ’em won’t stay 
on Snow Bird long, and after they find you are 
gone. They’ve got Birdwell, and now we’ve 


224 


VANCE SEVIER. 


got you. I reckon they’ll find some way to make 
you surveyors quit meddling with the Wetmore 
land before they let you off.” 

Mr. Martel had listened to this last remark or 
two with a sudden rising indignation. He could 
not restrain himself. 

‘^Let me tell you, sir, that these surveyors are 
only acting under my orders. They are not to 
blame for whatever fancied grievances you peo- 
ple up here seem to believe you are laboring 
under. ’ ’ 

‘^The dickens they ain’t!” Tom Catchings 
and his friends looked at the indignant fat man 
in amused perplexity. ^‘And who be you to 
talk so big I Do i/oti own this here land!” This 
last sarcastically. 

am one of the principal owners of the 
Wetmore Tract—” Here both Uri and Arizony 
motioned to Martel to be silent, but he was too 
angry to obey. ‘‘My name is Martel. I am 
president of the hunting and fishing club that 
has bought the land.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


225 


Tom Catchings gave a whistle of surprise, 
then he turned to his men. 

‘‘Boys/^ he chuckled, ^‘we’re in double luck. 
Won^t the rest of our crowd be tickled T’ 

‘‘Looks like they ought to be,’’ commented 
another of the four. 

“Well, then,” resumed Martel, “let these 
others go. I am the one you want; and let ine 
tell you, I will make every man pay dearly for 
this outrage. The law is on my side, and the 
law wins always, in the end. ’ ’ 

“We’re the law here, old man,” replied 
Catchings, sternly. “Don’t you forget that, 
now. Meanwhile, I reckon we better hold on to 
all of you, till the rest of our men comes up.” 

After this ultimatum, silence was preserved 
for a time, during which the prisoners were 
carefully watched. On the right rose a steep 
blutf, wooded to the summit. The river roared 
at their left hand, with high boulders occasion- 
ally blocking the way before, and causing the 
road to deflect either to right or left. 


226 


VANCE SEVIER. 


One rock larger than nsnal appeared in sight 
as a turn of the bank caused a corresponding 
bend of the wagon trad. The party turned to 
one side with a view of passing the obstruction, 
when, suddenly, three men, armed with repeat- 
ing rifles, sprang into view from behind the 
boulder, and leveled their weapons at the four 
guards. 

‘'Halt!’’ called one of the three, in a loud, de- 
cisive tone. . 


CHAPTER XX, 

EESCUED AND ONCE MOKE BESIEGED. 

The mountaineers, though dismayed, did not 
at once give up. They wheeled in their tracks, 
with a view to rapid retreat. 

Two more armed men, one of them a negro, 
had jumped into sight from the other side of the 
rock, and stood with cocked and presented guns. 

‘‘By mighty, boys!’’ exclaimed Catchings. 
“Let’s run for it.” 

“Captain Birdwell’s men!” cried Vance, sud- 
denly rousing from his apathetic state, and 
seizing his own rifle from the shoulder of a 
mountaineer. 

Vance used all his strength to break the strap. 
The man, not expecting this, toppled backward 
as the strap broke. Uri also cast himself bod- 
ily upon Tom Catchings. The two remaining 

227 


« 


228 


VANCE SEVIER. 


men, however, broke away, recklessly regard- 
less of consequences. 

‘‘Don’t shoot!” said the little fat man, ener- 
getically running here and there. “Martel is 
my name. If you are Birdwell’s men, I am 
your chief. Don’t fire. Better let a few escape 
than do any serious act on our side. ’ ’ 

So the two were allowed to get away unpur- 
sued, while Catchings and his comrade were 
disarmed and placed under guard. Some mu- 
tual explanations followed on both sides. 

The surveying party were out on a search for 
Captain Birdwell, their leader, of whom they 
had heard nothing, though rumors of an upris- 
ing among the mountaineers had floated down 
to their camp at Maple Springs. 

Baya had passed there early in the morning, 
inquiring his way to Cranch’s Store, several 
miles further on. 

“Could he be overtaken?” asked Vance, 
quickly. 

“I don’t think so,” replied Mark Brennan, 
head chain-bearer. “He must have reached 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


229 


Cranch’s by ten o’clock. I am sure he got a 
horse there— that is, if he wanted one; and a 
good traveling nag would take him to Murphy, 
the nearest railroad station, in time for the ex- 
press that passes there about noon.” 

Vance’s spirits suddenly fell again. It was 
now after five o’clock, and the sun was scarcely 
half an hour high. Bay a was, without doubt, 
at least a hundred miles away and flying toward 
South Georgia at a rate of thirty miles an hour. 
He thought of the telegraph, but was inter- 
rupted by hearing Brennan say : 

‘‘We must get out of this somehow. There 
is a hostile gang behind us, I know. We heard 
them shooting. They seemed to be coming 
down from Snow Bird, and if they are these 
same Wetmore men, they will cut off our re- 
treat down the river. ’ ’ 

“VHiat had we better do?” queried Martel, 
nervously. “If we must camp, I suppose we 
ought to seek some place where, if necessary, 
we can defend ourselves.” 


230 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


they are my father and his men, they are 
too numerous for us to tackle,’’ said Uri. ‘‘I 
suggest that we go back to the sawmill. There 
is an upper story over the sawmill that we can 
hold, I think. We have two prisoners. Perhaps 
we can etfect an exchange for Captain Birdwell. 
Then, again, I have a notion that we can get 
word from the mill down to Cranch’s. There 
used to be a telephone, though the wire may be 
broken now. They usually have to repair it 
every year when the lumbering begins.” 

^Must the plan, my boy,” responded Mr. 
Martel. ‘‘Let us lose no time in returning 
there— Stay! How about something to eat?” 

“That is Numa’s lookout,” said Brennan. 
“He knows if we starve, he loses his job— hey, 
Numa?” 

“Don’t reckon I lose hit befo’ dish yere’s 
done gin out,” grinned the negro cook, indicat- 
ing a large and well-filled sack strapped to his 
back, in addition to which he also had hung to 
his person a frying pan, a coffee-pot, a sheet 
iron skillet and a small camp axe. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


231 


‘'Hurry then!'' urged Mr. Martel. “Let us 
be moving— Hark! For heaven's sake, what 
is that?" 

A succession of shouts were heard down the 
river not more than half a mile off. A shot or 
two rang out. Tom Catchings grinned. 

“That's old man Tuggle and our fellows," he 
said. “Better turn me and my partner loose 
while times is fair." 

But he and his companion were marched hack 
to the mill, much in the same fashion as the 
mountaineers had managed their present cap- 
tors when the state of things was reversed. 

From the increase and persistence of the 
noise, it was evident that the two-escaping men 
had probably joined the Tuggle forces, thus ex- 
pediting the pursuit of the latter. 

The sun was setting when our party hurried 
across the millyard and ascended a steep pair 
of stairs leading to a sort of office over the open 
framework that supported the saw and log car- 
riage. 


232 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Mr. MartePs eyes were gladdened by the 
sight of a telephone hanging at the wall. It 
looked old and neglected, but the receiver hung 
familiarly on its hook, and through a small win- 
dow he saw a wire stretching obliquely across 
the river to a trimmed and deadened pine on the 
opposite bank. 

‘^They cannot cut the wire handily,’’ he 
thought. ‘^If it is not broken below, we will 
have some help here before long, I hope. ’ ’ 

While the others were securing the prisoners 
and attending to making the place as secure as 
possible, Martel began calling into the transmit- 
ter, at the same time placing the receiver to his 
ear. 

Hello! hello! hello!” No answer. A long 
pause; then, ^ ‘Hello you— down at Cranch’s! 
Hello, I say ! ’ ’ 

‘‘I’m afraid the wire is broke,” volunteered 
Uri. “Trees fall on it, and sometimes the 
mountain men will cut it just for mischief.” 

Martel turned away much discouraged just 


VANCE SEVIER. 


238 


as a loud uproar below drew general attention 
to the greater peril now threatening. 

In the growing twilight it could be seen that 
the millyard was filling with men. Captain 
Birdwell could be distinguished, with a couple 
of men on either side of him, who were undoubt- 
edly acting as guards. They all deployed about 
the mill office, and began to shout for the com- 
pany up stairs to surrender. 

‘^Come and take us, father, if you want us 
bad enough!’^ called Uri, opening a window. 
‘‘We gave you the slip on Snow Bird, and we 
donT propose to be outdone here.^’ 

“If ever I get hold of you again, boy, your 
hide will smart, sure as my name is Zeb Tug- 
gle!’^ 

Thus replied the old man, wrathfully, while 
his men were stationing themselves around and 
underneath the office in such a way as to most 
effectually prevent escape and insure final vic- 
tory. 

“We have two of your men and you have one 


234 


VANCE SEVIER. 


of ours,’’ continued Uri, without noticing the 
paternal threat. ‘^Want to exchange!” 

‘‘What’s the use! We will, have the last one 
of you before morning. ’ ’ 

This from Wolf Renfro, who was leisurely 
drawing bead upon Uri, as he rested his rifle on 
a post. 

“Think so!” said Uri, deliberately looking 
at the poised weapon. “You may find your- 
selves mistaken. There are eight of us now, 
and we are all armed.” 

A simultaneous thrusting of gun muzzles 
from each window of the office caused a general 
scattering of the forces below to positions be- 
hind logs, fences and any other convenient ob- 
struction. 

“W^e don’t want to use these rifles,” said 
Brennan. “But, by the great horn-spoon! be- 
fore we will be taken by the likes of you, there 
may be some cold lead going ! So lookout 1 ’ ’ 

A scornful series of laughs came up through 
the growing twilight. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


235 


‘‘You dinged fools! don^t you know we could 
set fire to the mill and smoke you out like rats 
from their holes said some one. 

A shuffling of feet had been heard below, 
while this was going on, but, as one man was 
guarding the door, little attention was paid to 
such sounds. 

“Look here, men!^’ began Mr. Martel. “I 
am the chief owner of all this tract you live on, 
and I am willing to do what is right by you, pro- 
vided you abandon this lawless method of in— 

A loud scuffle of feet on the stairs— a splinter- 
ing crash ! Then a second harder blow, when in 
flew the door, knocking down the guard, who 
was one of BirdwelPs men. The heavy scant- 
ling was dropped so that its upper end pre- 
vented the closing of the door, and a file of men 
pushed forward across the threshold. 

‘ ‘ This way ! ’ ^ called Vance, who was nearest, 
his apathy now gone and his movements mar- 
velously swift. “All hands! Lively now!’’ 

He had grasped the foremost man as he 
ceased speaking, tripping him by one of those 


236 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


lightning-like exhibitions of bodily dexterity 
with which the mountaineers were entirely un- 
familiar. 

TJri, at his back, aided Vance by pushing the 
falling man backward upon the one following, 
whose step was hardly on the top-most stair. 
The two went downward, clawing wildly, and 
spreading demoralization in their rear. 

In a trice the scantling was thrust back in its 
place and the door closed with a slam. The 
latch had been broken off. Some nails and a 
hammer, that lay in one corner, were used, and 
a stout bar was thoroughly nailed to the jamb 
on either side. 

After that an unusual quiet prevailed below. 
Some mischief was brewing. Both sides, though 
mutually incensed, were reluctant to begin the 
use of firearms. 

Uri announced his intention of going below 
on a scouting expedition. 

‘^Let me go with you,” said Vance. ‘^It is 
now so dark we can hardly be seen. I feel as if 
I must be doing something. ’ ’ 


VANCE SEVIER. 


237 


^ ‘ I know the feeling, my boy, ’ ’ interposed Mr. 
Martel, kindly. ‘‘You are worried over your 
private atfairs, and being cooped up and help- 
less, as far as attempting to remedy your home 
difficulties is concerned, renders inaction a sort 
of torture. But you are too valuable to us just 
now. One man is really all we ought to spare 
upon a mission of such risk. Indeed, I am in- 
clined to doubt the wisdom of Uri’s going.’’ 

“I am not certain, but I thought I saw some- 
thing to-day under the mill that looked like a 
canoe,” explained Uri. “In that case we 
might make use of it in some way—” 

‘ ‘ B-r-r-r-h ! Ting-a-ling-a-ling ! ’ ’ sounded 

from the telephone. 

Uri started at the, to him, unaccustomed 
sound. Mr. Martel sprang up like a rubber ball 
and ran to the instrument. 

“Hello!” he called; then, after a pause of 
listening, he added: “All right. Can you send 
a strong party up here as soon as possible. 
There are eight of us besieged in the Wacheesa 


238 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Company's sawmill by thirty or forty mountain 
men— who am IV ^ 

Mr. Martel explained at considerable length, 
raising his voice purposely, so that, in case any 
of the mountaineers should be close enough to 
hear, they would learn that assistance might be 
shortly forthcoming. He named over his own 
party, told who he was, recounted the methods 
and violence of the mountaineers, and at times 
glued his ear to the receiver as replies came in. 

‘‘It is all right, I think, he said, at last. “I 
have told him to keep some one near the ’phone, 
in case I want to talk again. Who is he? He 
is a storekeeper at Cranch’s. He says he will 
see what can be done. I rather guess he thinks 
it may prove to be a hot job. Perhaps you had 
better look after that boat, Uri. It may take us 
far enough away from here to enable us to get 
clear of these fellows, though I hardly know 
which looks most dangerous— the river or these 
mountain men.” 

“That telephone is a curiosity,” remarked 
Uri, as he made ready to depart. “It sort of 


VANCE SEVIER. 


239 


scares me when I hear it, though I know there 
is nothing for me to be scared at. ’ ’ 

‘^Keep a sharp lookout, brother,’’ cautioned 
Arizony, anxiously. ‘‘We can’t atford to lose 
you now.” 

The boy had noiselessly opened a small win- 
dow, on the side where the millhouse directly 
overhung the water below the dam. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE MILL OFFICE ON FIKE. 

On the outside a long, slender post extended 
downward. Uri has fastened a rope inside and 
thrown the other end down to the water. 

‘‘Don’t you worry, sister,” was all he said. 

After a long lookout he quietly drew himself 
through the window and disappeared. 

Mark Brennan put his head out for a mo- 
ment, then, turning back, announced: 

“He’s down. It’s already pretty dark. We 
must keep a sharp watch, men. I wish I was 
out of this, and the captain, too. These blamed 
mountain men ! There is no reckoning on what 
they may do.” 

Brennan’s last words expressed the general 
feeling. None of them felt as if they had done 
anything to merit such vindictive treatment; 


240 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


241 


yet all, with, perhaps, the exception of Uri and 
his sister, who were mountaineers themselves, 
felt uncertain as to what extremities these half- 
wild men might go in revenge of their absurd 
grievances. 

The minutes passed slowly. It seemed to 
Vance as if Uri remained away an unconscionr 
able length of time, though in reality the boy 
was gone hardly more than ten minutes. 

Suddenly Arizony uttered a slight scream as 
a form darkened the dim outline of the window. 

A shot was fired outside that was followed by 
a fusillade. Uri tumbled in head foremost, 
while there rose a series of yells and whoopings 
from the outer darkness that were truly terri- 
fying to acute nerves. Vance and Arizony flew 
to Uri’s side. 

‘‘Are you hurtU^ they asked in one breath. 
“Did they hit youU’ 

“No. On this side I am out of range. I 
know them. That is all a bluff. Stick to your 
guns, boys. Something else will happen, sure 
as fate.^’ 


242 


VANCE SEVIER. 


While speaking Uri sprang up and took his 
rifle. The others, reassured as to his safety, 
posted themselves at windows and door. In 
silence they waited, while without the shots and 
shoutings continued so vigorously that their 
ears tingled. 

Mr. Martel, who was at one corner by the 
door, fancied he heard a faint scratching sound 
on the landing outside. About the same time 
two of the men felt certain that .something was 
stirring upon the roof, and remembered that 
a large tree overhung a corner of the building 
in such a way that a man might drop from a 
limb on to the shingles without much trouble. 

‘‘I smell smoke!’’ exclaimed Arizony. “Can 
they have fired the millT’ 

Sundry dim fiashes, that rapidly increased, 
threw long, darting reflections athwart the 
darkness without. No flames could be seen by 
those inside, yet fire there must be somewhere. 

Meanwhile the uproar outside was kept up 
unceasingly. The smell of smoke increased. 
Vague glimpses of running forms in the yard 


VANCE SEVIER. 


243 


could be caught, as the reflected light fell here 
and there. 

‘‘Boys,’^ said Mark Brennan, who had sud- 
denly thrust his head out at the little back win- 
dow and as suddenly drawn it back, ‘‘the roof 
is on fire! I suspected it. This ceiling over- 
head and their infernal noise has enabled them 
to fire it somehow.’’ 

“I heard them at the door,” replied Martel. 
‘ ‘ They must have found a way to climb up. ’ ’ 

“They may have found a ladder,” observed 
another. “There’s always ladders about a 
mill.” 

“What shall we do I” asked Mr. Martel, 
gravely. “If we show ourselves we will be shot 
down.” 

“That shooting is only to scare us, sir,” as- 
sured Uri. “ As long as we do not use our guns 
I feel sure that they will not aim at us. How 
did they reach the roof? Well, they climbed 
that water oak and let themselves down.” 


244 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Here the telephone suddenly rang. All were 
startled, for the noise without had largely slacks 
ened. 

The roof, being well fired, was by this time 
burning brightly, especially on the side toward 
the yard, where the mountaineers were now 
watching the course of events curiously, firing 
an occasional shot into the air or giving forth 
one of their peculiar yells. 

Martel ran to the telephone and took up the 
receiver. 

‘‘Welir’ he called, then listened, nodding his 
head and finally replying, All right ! Thanks ! 
You have relieved our minds greatly. ’ ’ 

He turned to the others, who were expectant- 
ly waiting. 

‘‘A constable has started for this place with 
a hurriedly-levied posse, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ More men 
will follow as fast as they can be got together. 
Stay!’^ 

He ran to the telephone and called again. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


245 


‘ ‘ They have set fire to the millhouse over our 
heads,’’ reported Martel. ‘‘We shall have to 
seek other quarters, but hope to form a junction 
with your men. That’s all at present.” 

Vance, Uri and Brennan had been consulting 
togeth 

“We think the best plan will be to try and 
reach the canoe from this outside window,” 
said Brennan. ‘ ‘ Those men are all on the land 
side. While some of us are sliding down the 
rope, the others must kick up a racket from the 
other windows and the door, so as to distract 
their attention. W'e must hurry up, too.” 

“Who will go first?” asked Mr. Martel. 

“Arizony and yourself,” said Uri, promptly. 
“She understands a canoe, and there are two 
paddles. I bailed the boat out. You first, sister.” 

Without a sign of reluctance the girl stepped 
forward and was helped out by Uri, while Bren- 
nan and his men began shouting from the other 
windows and firing their repeaters into the air. 
This puzzled the enemy, who were running here 


246 


VANCE SEVIER. 


and there, threatening to kill some one in case 
the burning roof was interfered with. 

^^Now, Mr. Martel,’’ urged Uri. ‘‘You 
next. ’ ’ 

“I am the heaviest. Let the lighter ones go 
first. Here, Numa, you have the eatables. ‘It 
is important to have you safe. ’ ’ 

So Numa, with his sack of provisions, was 
lowered. Brennan’s men, growing alarmed at 
the increasing heat and roar overhead, pressed 
forward. Vance and Mr. Martel took their 
places in making a noise. Brennan himself had 
ripped otf the bar and thrown open the door 
and was firing a shot every minute or two down 
the stairs, yelling meanwhile like a wild Indian. 

Hot embers began to drop through the ceil- 
ing. Uri called impatiently for the next Qne 
to go. 

The two prisoners now made a bold rush and 
plunged down the stairs, almost unopposed, so 
great was the general alarm of all. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


247 


on, Brennan,^’ commanded Martel. 
‘^Don^t hang back. YonVe done yonr duty 
here. ^ ’ 

“But— but— stammered the big Irishman. 
“Sure, I cannot go before the boss. I^m no 
coward, even if my men do show the white 
feather.” 

“I^m heaviest. You must go first. Come!” 

And Martel fairly forced the big chain-bearer 
to the little window and boosted him through, 
with Brennan grumbling and remonstrating. 

“Down with you, boys!” cried Mr. Martel, 
his full, ruddy face fiaming with heat and ex- 
citement. “The rope might break with me, 
then—” 

While he was speaking, Vance and Uri had 
looked at each other meaningly, having made 
up their minds as to their own course. At this 
juncture a section of the wooden ceiling fell in, 
scattering hot cinders over the three in a blis- 
tering shower. 

Martel broke it oft, his face suddenly grow- 
ing ashy as he brushed the burning sparks 


248 


VANCE SEVIER. 


away. Vance and Uri seized him and thrust 
him through the window. 

“Catch the rope or fall!’^ called Uri, desper- 
ately impatient. 

The fat man caught the rope and went down 
like a sack of grain. The rope— a mere cord 
—creaked, swayed and snapped. Martel struck 
the water at the canoe side and was dragged 
aboard by Brennan. But his first generous 
thought was for the boys who had dealt with 
him so summarily, yet so unselfishly. 

“Boys, boys!^^ he called, looking up, while 
his garments streamed rivers of water. “For 
goodness sake, slide down this post ! ’ ’ 

A tremendous crash interrupted him, that 
was followed by a shower of sparks which filled 
the upper air. These, in turn, were succeeded 
by long, upward tongues of darting flames. 

The whole office roof had fallen in. A cry 
of dismay arose from the occupants of the 
canoe, which had been pushed out from under 
the framework of the mill, in order to escape 


VANCE SEVIER. 


249 


the falling embers and fragments of burning 
wood. 

‘ ^ Uri ! Uri ! ^ ’ screamed Arizony. 

‘‘This is awful!’’ exclaimed Mr. Martel, ut- 
terly aghast. ‘ ‘ Awful ! ’ ’ 

On shore the mountaineers were again yell- 
ing and tiring. No sign of Uri and Vance was 
apparent. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

CONSTABLE NUCKOLS AND THE POSSE. 

When the rope broke under the strain of Mr. 
Martel’s weight, the boys were for an instant 
dismayed. 

‘‘We must try the post,” said Uri. “You 
first, Vance.” 

“No, you go. I am determined to be last.” 

While they thus contended, an ominous, 
crackling sound warned them as to what was 
coming. They dashed toward the open door 
just as the roof fell in. 

On the landing a sort of boarded-in portico 
protected them, while the main roof and the 
ceiling crumbled downward toward a common 
centre. Vance had closed the door to shut out 
as much of the almost insupportable heat and 
smoke as possible. 


250 


VANCE SEVIER. 


251 


A short extension of the siding still kept them 
out of sight from the now wildly excited men 
in the log-yard. 

Uri glanced through a large knot-hole at his 
back, as he heard his sister scream. He saw 
the canoe glide out from under the open frame- 
work that constituted the foundations of the 
mill. The swift current caught the boat, and 
it was whirled down stream, veering and yaw- 
ing. 

Men were running along the hank, evidently 
trying to gain a position in order to stop it, 
and doubtless thinking that all the besieged 
were thus making their escape. 

But the shore line was so impeded by rocks, 
trees, bushes, and precipitous banks sloping 
ruggedly from the wagon trail, that their speed 
was necessarily less than that of those in the 
canoe. 

‘‘If they donT run into any of the rocks that 
stud the river, they will get away,’^ said Uri. 

“What shall we do?’’ asked Vance. “We 
cannot stay here. ’ ’ 


252 


VANCE SEVIER. 


see no other chance than to make a dash 
for it/’ replied Uri. 

‘‘If they begin firing on us we are goners. 
Yet, as you say, it seems to he the only thing 
left, unless we vote to stay here and he slowly 
roasted. ’ ’ 

“That will never do. I hardly think father 
will let them shoot—” 

“Come on!” interrupted Vance. “I can’t 
stand this any longer.” 

He dashed down the stairs and out into the 
millyard, closely followed by Uri. The atten- 
tion of the mountaineers was so completely 
taken up by the vanishing canoe and its occu- 
pants, that the boys would probably have es- 
caped had they not been attracted by the sight 
of Captain Birdwell seated upon some lumber, 
with his hands tied and only one guard at his 
side. 

Old man Tuggle and one or two of the more 
watchful men saw the sudden rush of the boys. 
Though greatly surprised, they raised a shout 
of alarm and gave chase, brandishing their 


VANCE SEVIER. 


253 


weapons and threatening to fire. The rest of 
the besiegers were scattered along the river 
bank for half a mile, trying to find a way to stop 
the canoe without shooting the occupants. 

‘‘Let^s release Birdwell,’’ said Vance to Uri, 
as they ran. 

The two wheeled sharply and rushed upon 
the single guard with an irresistible impetus. 

The man was upset, disarmed and his gun 
wrenched from his grasp in a twinkling. Uri 
held him down, while Vance cut the cords that 
tied Captain BirdwelBs hands. Then the two 
pulled Uri from the impeding grasp of the pros- 
trate mountain man, and. the three started down 
the road as fast as their legs could carry them. 

‘‘Stop there, I tell you, or we will shoot 
yelled old Tuggle, exasperated to frenzy by the 
release of his prisoner. ‘ ‘ Stop, I say ! ’ ^ 

Of course such commands only added vigor 
to the flight of the three. As they neared a 
bend in the road, just below the millyard, dis- 
cretion gave way to fury on the part of the pur- 


suers. 


254 


VANCE SEVIEB. 


One sharp report rang out that was quickly 
followed by others. But men while running at 
full speed are not apt to aim straight, and the 
fugitives escaped harm, though the zip-zipping 
of the bullets made their flesh tingle with ap- 
prehension. 

Round the bend they flew, with a scattering 
fusillade still following. To their minds safety 
was already in view, when the hushes parted, 
and a number of those who had been pursuing 
the canoe appeared. Then up came old Tuggle 
and the men behind. 

With an unscalable cliif on one side, the river 
on the other, together with armed foes in front 
and rear, capture seemed inevitable. 

But Captain Birdwell had experienced 
enough of it. He had run just sufficiently to 
limber him up and nerve his spirits. Uttering 
a defiant cry, he ran straight at the knot of men 
before him, and burst through them like a thun- 
derbolt. Being of unusually strong physique, 
he easily shook off their detaining grasps on his 
person. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


255 


Vance and Uri, following, were next seized. 
Being already greatly worn ont by previous 
hardships, the youths were held. Birdwell 
dashed into the leafy cover of the woods and 
disappeared while the mountaineers were se- 
curing the boys. 

He had run probably a mile, and was breath- 
ing hard, when he ran plump into a group of 
armed men, who were trudging along at a smart 
gait. 

‘‘Halt!^’ commanded the leader. “Who the 
mischief are youT^ 

“Why, is that you, Mr. NuckolsT^ said Cap- 
tain Birdwell. ‘ ^ I hope these men are friends. ^ ’ 

“Course they are. I didn’t know you at first. 
I reckon you and your party must be the very 
ones we are out to help. Where are the 
others r’ 

“Well, those fellows fired the mill— you can 
see the reflection of the fire from here. My men 
and two or three others had taken refuge in the 
mill building. They have had me prisoner for 
two days, so I don’t know so much. But T 


256 


VANCE SEVIER. 


think all but two of the party in the mill got 
away in a boat. A couple of young fellows ran 
out, downed my guard, cut me loose, and the 
three of us made off. They headed us back yon- 
der, but I broke through and came on anyhow. 
I fear they got the boys.’^ 

Voices from the river were now audible. 
^‘What’s that?^^ said Constable Nuckols. 
‘‘More of those confounded mountaineers!” 

“I think it is our men,” suggested Birdwell. 
“At least I hope so.” 

The posse broke for the river bank, headed 
by Captain Birdwell. By the torches carried 
by Nuckols’ men the canoe was seen pivoted 
upon a rock near the shore, against which the 
current had swept it so fiercely that the occu- 
pants were having trouble, especially as the 
craft was too heavily loaded. 

“Hurrah, men!” called Birdwell. “Don’t 
give up. Friends have come to help us at last. ’ ’ 
‘ ‘ That so ! ” shouted Mr. Martel, jumping up 
in great excitement. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


257 


His weight was the last straw, so to speak, 
upon the wrong side of the canoe. It dipped, 
was seized by the turbid swirl of water and be- 
gan to fill. 

Overboard jumped the occupants, except 
Arizony, who calmly seized a paddle and 
pushed the lightened craft to the bank. The 
rest waded ashore, chilled yet jubilant at sight 
of the score of armed men who, to the fugitives, 
represented law and order. 

A brief consultation was held, at which it 
was determined to go on to the mill and see 
what had become of Vance and Uri. Also, they 
would try to save such property as could be still 
rescued from the flames. So on they trudged, 
their united forces now numbering nearly 
thirty. Most of the men had Winchesters, the 
rest shotguns and revolvers. 

‘HVe got an old warrant for Wolf Renfro,’’ 
said Nuckols. ‘‘It’s for hog stealing. Reckon 
now will be a good time to serve it, eh?” 

By Captain Birdwell’s advice, several skir- 
mishers were thrown out in front and on the 


258 


VANCE SEVIER. 


right, to prevent any possible surprise. The 
reflection of the burning mill rose luridly above 
the trees. Presently they could hear the shouts 
of men and the crackle of flames. 

When they came in sight of the mill, the 
mountaineers were seated about on logs, with 
their backs to the road, calmly watching the 
blazing ruins. It could be at once seen that 
Tuggle and his force had no idea of any imme- 
diate opposition. 

Birdwell, when the scouts came back and re- 
ported, proposed that they execute a complete 
surprise movement, and take the mountaineers 
at such disadvantage that resistance would be 
minimized as much as possible. 

‘‘Bet your life we will, captain!’^ agreed 
Constable Nuckols. “We’d better capture as 
many of them as we can manage. Some of 
them will have to answer for setting that mill 
on fire.” 

Arrangements were soon made. Men de- 
ployed right and left— some behind outlying 
logs, others behind rocks and trees. 



“If you must kill some one, try me!” 

(Page 167) 



VANCE SEVIER. 


259 


When all was ready, Nuckols rose and waved 
his hat. One of the mountaineers, happening 
to look round, saw this movement. As he stared 
a semi-circle of armed men arose from their 
places of concealment and stood with leveled 
weapons. 

The shout given by the startled mountain 
man was interrupted by Constable Nuckols call- 
ing out in shrill, high tones; 

^‘Put down your guns! You are all under 
arrest! The first man to resist or run will be 
shot down! Surrender!^’ 

At the last word the constable's voice rose to 
a perfect shriek. 

The mountaineers sprang to their feet and 
seized their rifles. But the sight of two dozea 
or more leveled gun-barrels had an instantly 
sobering effect. A few men at the most remote 
points dropped on their knees and sneaked into 
the bushes. 

Birdwell, armed with a repeating rifle, 
walked boldly into the midst of the demoral- 


260 


VANCE SEVIER. 


ized crowd and severed the bonds of Vance and 
Uri. Then he thrust the muzzle into Wolf Ren- 
fro’s face. 

‘ ^ Come with me, you scoundrel ! ’ ’ commanded 
the surveyor. ‘‘You insulted me when I was 
helpless. March ! ” 

And the surveyor walked him up to Constable 
Nuckols, who slipped handcuffs on his wrists 
before the eyes of all his friends. 

“Well, you’ve got the dead wood on us at 
last,” remarked old Tuggle, sullenly. “What 
do you propose doing?” 

4 

“I shall arrest all the leaders— you for one,” 
replied Nuckols. “Step out here! We haven’t 
any too much time to waste!” 

By the light of the still burning mill the con- 
stable, assisted by two or three others, began 
handcuffing and tying those whom he consid- 
ered primarily responsible for the recent dis- 
turbances. 

As Uri saw his father about to be handcuffed, 
he sprang forward and thrust the arresting of- 
ficer back. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


261 


‘‘I have been a true friend to law and order, 
as Van^ce, Mr. Martel and Captain Birdwell 
know. But you shall not manacle my father!’’ 

The boy looked at Nuckols defiantly. 

Vance placed himself at Uri’s side. 

‘‘I’m with you,” said he. “Mr. Tuggle fore- 
bore to use firearms when he might have done 
so often. He shall not be tied like a dog ! ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

ON THE WAY TO CRANCH^S. 

Old Tuggle’s amazement at this generous be- 
haviour on the part of the two boys was almost 
pathetic. 

‘‘Well, I’ll he dad burned, if—” Then he 
paused, gulped a little, looked about at his own 
men and added, “It’s no use. I reckon we 
might as well give up—” 

“Speak for yourself, old man!” grumbled a 
big mountaineer, who noted these proceedings 
with rising disgust. “Let’s run for it, boys. 
They can’t get all on us, even with their Win- 
chesters. ’ ’ 

He justified his own counsel by upsetting the 
redoubtable Nuckols himself and leaping into 
the nearby bushes. Instantly a dozen others 
were bolting in every direction. Those of the 


262 


VANCE SEVIER. 


263 


captors not engaged in guarding the bound pris- 
oners scattered in pursuit. Shots were fired, 
mostly in the air. 

A reinforcement came running up the road. 
It was the second succoring party promised by 
the storekeepers at Cranch’s. 

A lively few minutes ensued, but nearly half 
of the mountain men succeeded in effecting 
their escape. 

During this excitement old Tuggle remained 
quiet, making no effort to run, though Uri and 
Vance purposely moved away from his side and 
no other guard was, for the moment, near. 

‘‘Run, father, run!’^ urged Arizony, in low 
tones. “You can get away as easy as— 

“No,^^ he interrupted; “IVe concluded to 
take my medicine. I^d have to anyhow— sooner 
or later. Shake, boys! You’ve won. Dad burn 
it, Uri, I didn’t ’low you had so much grit.” 

Father and son silently clasped hands. Di- 
verse as were their ideas in many respects, and 
bitter as had been their recent estrangement, 
the old man, as a result of it, had learned to 


264 


VANCE SEVIER. 


respect his son, even though the boy was a poor 
shot and an indifferent hunter. 

On the way to Cranch’s, Mr. Martel suddenly 
remembered something which he knew he 
should have remembered before. 

‘‘Captain Birdwell,” said he, “I owe you 
and your men an apology. They gave me some 
letters for you all, but I have been so completely 
upset by this confounded rising of the Wetmore 
men that I really forgot all about them.’’ 

Then Mr. Martel handed out several mis- 
sives to their proper owners. One of these was 
to Vance. 

“My dear boy,” continued Martel, “I feel 
specially culpable as regards your letter. It 
may give you important news, that you should 
have had earlier. I trust, however, you may 
not suffer by my negligence. ’ ’ 

Vance, after reassuring the kind-hearted man 
as best he could, read his own letter, which was 
from his mother and dated about a week pre- 
vious. 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


265 


“My Dear Son/" so it ran : “How myself and the 
children miss you ! In our comparatively unprotected 
state here on the plantation, we feel your father’s loss 
more while you are away than ever. 

“I have important news for you. Only night before 
last, four men rode up to the front door and forcibly 
entered the house. Old Pomp was so terrified that he 
vanished down cellar and was seen no more until the 
men had gone. They were armed and masked. After 
uttering horrible threats, in case any of us made a noise 
or interfered in any way, they proceeded to search the 
house. 

“At first, I thought they were after common plunder, 
but when they ignored our old silverware and the few 
articles of jewelry lying about on the bureaus, I felt 
sure they were after something more valuable still. 

“At last they made me open your father’s old safe, 
by threatening to blow it up with dynamite, and the 
house as well. They searched it, but carried ofif noth- 
ing, as far as I could see. 

“After that, they demanded of me to know where 
the old Spanish grant was. I suppose they meant the 
faded parchment that your father was looking for, and 
which came to us only a short time ago from Spain. 


266 


VANCE SEVIER. 


I was glad you had insisted upon taking it with you. 
They refused to believe what I said, and acted in a 
really dreadful manner, cursing us, beating the negroes 
and smashing the furniture. 

“Finally they rode away. When daylight came, I 
dispatched old Pomp to Squire Carver’s with the news. 
A party followed the tracks into Okeefenoke Swamp. 
The horses were turned loose. They proved to be 
livery hacks, hired at Way Cross by one man only. We 
suppose that the men, after leaving the horses, must 
have taken to some kind of boat, as no further traces of 
them have been found. The man who hired the horses 
dropped a remark at Way Cross that led the liverymen 
to think he must be from Savannah. 

“I hope, my dear son, that you are safe and in good 
health. I now understand why you thought best to 
take away that old deed. Jed Summerlin is certainly 
after the land, and in case of the disappearance of the 
original Spanish grant, I suppose his later entry, un- 
der the United States laws, will stand, and we will lose 
all the property your poor father struggled so long to 
secure ; but I trust you have it safe. 

“Come home as soon as you can. If we are able to 
sell this Okeefenoke land, you won’t have to go off on 


VANCE SEVIER. 


267 


those distant surveying trips to make more money for 
us all. 

“Harold and Nan send love and kisses to Brother 
Vance. As for me, I pray every night for your safety, 
my dear, dear boy. We all want to see you — so much. 

“Your loving mother, Agnes Sevier.'" 

AVhile Vance read his letter, the march down 
the river was rapidly kept up by the light of 
torches. 

A number of men had remained to watch the 
mill property and prevent the flames from 
spreading. The prisoners walked two and two, 
most of them tied together. Mr. Tuggle was 
allowed to walk with Uri, though three men kept 
an eye on him by Nuckols’ orders. 

Vance’s manner became again so dejected 
that Mr. Martel noticed it, and as he had been 
strongly attracted by the young fellow’s pluck 
under trying circumstances, he fell in beside 
Vance and began talking. 

‘ ‘ I suppose you will think I am a meddlesome 
old fogy, ’ ’ he ventured. ‘ ‘ But I see you are still 
troubled. Let me know what worries you. I 


268 


VANCE SEVIER. 


am often in a position to be of service to those 
who interest me. This rumpus up here may in- 
terfere with your surveying job; therefore, as 
it was through me you have been drawn into 
these disturbances, I would like to make some 
amends. You and Uri acted very nobly in forc- 
ing me to go down that rope. As I feared, it 
broke, but I was not hurt. We really thought, 
though, when the roof caved in, that we had 
seen the last of you two, and I said to myself, 
^If I live, I will do something for the relatives 
of those brave boys.^ ’’ 

hope you will endeavor to have Mr. Tug- 
gle released,’’ interposed Vance, quickly. ‘‘It 
would please Uri so much. He loves the old 
man, though Mr. Tuggle has been rather hard 
on him. ’ ’ 

“Depend on it, I shall not forget Uri. But 
now, what about yourself? Unless you have 
special reasons for privacy, I think you will act 
wisely in making a confidant of me. I have had 
large experience in dealing with men. I am a 
lawyer— ’ ’ 


VANCE SEVIER 


269 


will trust you!’’ broke in Vance, all eag- 
erness, once his mind was made up. ‘^Why 
should I not? Pray read that letter first. It 
will help you to understand what I shall try to 
make plainer afterward.” 

He gave Mr. Martel his mother’s letter and 
watched his pink, open face as the little, fat man 
hurriedly glanced through Mrs. Sevier’s mis- 
sive to her oldest child. 

When the letter had been read, Mr. Martel 
returned it, saying: 

^Mt sounds strange— quite strange. And Jed 
Summerlin, too!” The fat man shook his head 
meditatively as he waddled along in the torch- 
light. always distrusted Summerlin, yet 
there’s no shrewder man going—” 

^^You know him, then?” asked Vance, in sur- 
prise. 

‘‘Know him! There are few better known 
men in Savannah than Jed Summerlin. Yes, 
I have been engaged in a few land speculations 
with him. It was through him that we first got 
on to this Wetmore Tract. Now he has a large 


270 


VANCE SEVIER. 


body of timbered land somewhere down in the 
great Okeefenoke Swamp. It may be the same 
tract that yonr good mother alludes to in her 
letter.’^ 

‘^Was it cypress timber— lots of it— worth a 
fortune to whoever owns it, when capital suffi- 
cient is enlisted to put it into market?” 

^^Well, that might answer to a cursory de- 
scription. To be more exact, Summerlin states 
that there are twenty-six thousand acres, and 
—I am not certain, though I think it is the case. 
But it seems to me he spoke of its being an old 
Spanish grant— one of the kind which th3 
United States agreed to respect when Spain 
ceded Florida to us. Of course, the land lies 
on the Florida side of the State line.” 

^‘I feel sure that what you speak of and the 
land my father owned are one and the same 
tract. You see by the letter that Summerlin 
is interested. And now I have lost the old deed, 
after taking it with me, for I had reason to 
think that an attempt would be made on our 
house.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


271 


‘‘Why did you not put your deed in some 
other safe place— say the Way Cross hank 
vaults ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I intended to do that. But it was after bank 
hours when I reached Way Cross. A friend 
there also told me that this man Baya was a di- 
rector of the Way Cross Bank. His firm are 
Summerlin’s local agents. That night came a 
dispatch from Captain Birdwell, ordering me 
to be in Asheville by a certain date. I had to 
take the night express, and in my haste and un- 
certainty of mind, I brought the deed along.” 

“Did any one in Way Cross know you had it 
with you?” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A MESSAGE FEOM MURPHY. 

Vance reflected a moment. 

can hardly say. Of course, Barton & Baya 
knew that we had at last obtained the original 
grant from Spain. My father negotiated for 
the land and paid for it before he died, but 
owing to some difficulty which I do not under- 
stand, the transmission of the deed was delayed 
for two years, during which time my father 
died. 

‘Mn the meanwhile, a canal has been com- 
pleted to the St. Mary’s River, that enhances 
the value of this grant, by rendering the cypress 
timber on it available for market. Summerlin 
came down a year ago, and claimed that he had 
entered the land. My mother was notified by 
the United States Land Office to produce the 
Spanish grant under which my father claimed 


272 


VANCE SEVIER. 


273 


to hold the land. We applied for an extension 
of time, and were granted nntil the first of next 
month. And now they have stolen our deed, 
and we will forfeit the land through my negli- 
gence.’’ 

‘‘That is, unless you produce your original 
grant, with the transfer to your father at the 
United States Land Office by the first of next 
month, Summerlin will be allowed to perfect his 
entry, pay for the land at the nominal Govern- 
ment price, and be given an American title!” 

“That is about the way of it. Baya has got the 
deed. Of course he is working for Summerlin. 
Is it likely that he will permit us to have pos- 
session of the deed again!” 

“Why not have him arrested! Even if you 
fail to recover the deed, you can have him pun- 
ished, I should think.” 

‘ ‘ Possibly. I can attend to that later on. But 
at present, if we fail to win this land, we are 
ruined. That is what is hurting me. Ruined— 
and all my fault. ’ ’ 

Vance stopped short, for he felt that his voice 


274 


VANCE SEVIER. 


was trembling. He did not want to break down 
openly. 

‘Ht may not be so bad. How do yon suppose 
Baya found out that the old deed was in your 
personal possession. ’ ’ 

‘‘As I said before, I hardly know. I think 
that our family has been closely watched, but 
beyond that, I can say nothing definite.” 

“Well, well!” Mr. Martel was beginning to 
puff under his pedestrian exertions. “We walk 
so fast that I cannot talk very much. Let me 
think a while. I am interested in you, and I 
am hanged if Jed Summerlin or any one else 
shall make me instrumental in cheating a widow 
out of what is justly hers. How will you be 
ruined, Vance!” 

“We have relied on the ultimate sale of this 
land to cancel a large lien on our plantation 
that was incurred during the hard times just 
after the war. Father never was able to pay it 
off. It is liable to be foreclosed at any time. 
The parties have held off, thinking that we 
would pay it upon sale of this Spanish grant, 


yANCE SEVIER. 


275 


but when they find we have lost that, it will be 
good-by to the old plantation.’’ 

‘‘Well, now, I would not take it so hard. Let 
me think— let me think. Po-o-o-f ! I wish they 
would walk more slowly. May I take your arm, 
my boy?” 

Together the two pressed on, Vance wrapt in 
despondency, and Mr. Martel dividing his time 
between deep reflection and grumbling over his 
bodily fatigue. At last, Cranch’s was reached. 
By this time it was after midnight. Mr. Martel 
and Vance walked back to where Mr. Tuggle 
and Uri were standing. 

The torches had gone out, and the place was 
in darkness. Nuckols was striving to rouse the 
two or three families living near by. He wanted 
something to eat, and further aid to transport 
his prisoners to the county jail. 

“Old man,” whispered Mr. Martel to Tuggle, 
“do you know me?” 

“They say you are the feller what’s bought 
us all out. I wish I’d a caught you first.” 

“Never mirfd that. If you had a hundred 


276 


VANCE SEVIER. 


yards start, do you think you could keep out of 
Nuckols ’ hands, until this rumpus is settled ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Course I could. Turn me loose on old Snow 
Bird and Wacheesy, and all the constables in 
Cherokee County can’t catch me. Dad burned 
if they can! But what’s all this to you!” 

‘^Nothing much. Just walk back a few steps 
with me.” Then to a couple of men acting as 
guards, ^ ^ It is all right. I am Mr. Martel. ’ ’ 

He drew the old man away, while the guards, 
who by this time understood who Martel was, 
said nothing. 

‘‘What the nation do you want!” demanded 
Tuggle, suspiciously. 

“Only this. If you really wish to escape, 
now is your chance. Uri will look after your 
rifle. We will also see that your daughter gets 
home safe. A fine little lady she is, too. ’ ’ 

“Do you mean for me to leg it out’n here 
right now!” 

“I do. Come, Mr. Tuggle, I bear no resent- 
ment. Later on I hope to convince you and 


VANCE SEVIER. 


277 


your friends that I mean to deal justly with 
every man living on the Wetmore Tract.” 

‘‘I believe you,” said the old man, grasping 
Martel ’s hand. ‘ ^ I vow I do ! From this time 
Zeb Tuggle is your friend. After all, I reckon 
I might as well light out. I^m too old to be 
laying in jail.” 

^^All right. I understand. But if you don’t 
skip your liveliest, they will be looking for you, 
and then— ” 

The old hunter was gone, his form vanishing 
in the darkness like that of a ghost. Mr. Mar- 
tel dexterously dodged the guards in the rear of 
the column, and, taking Vance and Arizony 
with him, he proceeded to invade the storekeep- 
er ’s house, where lights were now showing at 
the windows. Uri was sent for, and in a short 
time, through the magic of a discreet display of 
silver dollars, the three were seated at a table 
discussing a cold supper with ravenous appe- 
tites. 

Other families were soon engaged in supply- 
ing the wants of the rest of the hungry men. The 


278 


VANCE SEVIER. 


store was also invaded, and such eatables as it 
could furnish purchased and brought forth. 

The prisoners, after being fed, were shut up 
in a disused smithy, and guards stationed. Old 
Tuggle’s absence was not noticed by Nuckols 
that night. If any of the guards observed it, 
they said nothing, possibly from a fear of being 
held blameworthy themselves. 

After a time, Mr. Gooch, the storekeeper, 
came into his house rather hurriedly. 

‘Ms there any one here by the name of Vance 
Sevier?” he asked. 

“That is my name,” replied the young sur- 
veyor. 

“Late this afternoon I received a telephone 
message from Murphy, stating that a stranger 
had been run over by the train. About an hour 
or so ago, a second message inquired if Vance 
Sevier was here. By that time I knew he was 
one of the party at the sawmill.” 

“I remember giving you our names,” said 
Martel, “as I did not know what might happen 
to us.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


279 


'‘Well/’ continued Gooch, "I ’phoned hack 
that he was up the river. They replied by ask- 
ing me to send for him at once. The relief 
parties had already started, and I knew you all 
would soon be here, if possible, and so I told 
them at Murphy. Then they ’phoned me to tell 
Mr. Sevier as soon as I could that the stranger 
who was injured by the train wants to see him 
right away.” 

"Wants to see me!” echoed Vance. "What 
can that mean!” 

"They will not explain further than to state 
that it would be greatly to Vance Sevier’s in- 
terest to come on immediately. That is, the in- 
jured man said this to the operator. They fear 
he will not live long, I think.” 

"Mr. Gooch,” inquired Mr. Martel, "how 
soon can you provide conveyance for two of us 
to go to Murphy!” Mr. Gooch looked dubious, 
whereat Mr. Martel produced a roll of bills. 
"Time is most important, you see,” added the 
lawyer, "but not expense.” 


280 


VANCE SEVIER. 


I say, sir!’^ expostulated Vance. ‘‘I 
don’t know if it is right for you to be paying 
out money for me in— ” 

‘‘My dear boy, keep quiet. Did I not say 
that I knew Jed Summerlin! There is no doubt 
but he has a hand in this deal. I may have been 
unconsciously working against your interests in 
some of my negotiations with him. We must 
reach that injured stranger at once. By tho 
way, Gooch, what is the man’s name!” 

Upon the storekeeper the sight of Martel’s 
money had produced a livening-up effect. He 
was conferring with a negro, who looked like a 
stableman. He now hurried back to Martel’s 
side. 

“We can rig you up a buckboard and two 
mules. The driver can sit on a box. But it 
will cost you— er— a five dollar—” , 

“Hang the cost! What we want is to get to 
Murphy. I think we can do without sleep a 
little longer— eh, Vance! But what did you say 
was the injured man’s name!” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


281 


^‘Didn’t say. They didnT give his name.’’ 

‘ ‘ Suppose you ring them up and ask what his 
name is, and tell them that Vance Sevier will 
start for Murphy in ten minutes.” 

Gooch hastened into his store, and, after 
what seemed a long absence, came back with 
the news that he could obtain no response from 
Murphy. 

‘‘The telephone is at the station, and after 
midnight there is no one on duty from then un- 
til half-past four. But your rig is about ready, 
I reckon.” 

While Gooch was gone, Mr. Martel had held 
a conference with Captain Birdwell, to whom 
he gave full instructions as to what he desired 
to have done during his own absence. The sur- 
vey was to be postponed, pending an investiga- 
tion of the real state of affairs between the 
mountaineer occupants of the Wetmore Tract 
and the original owners. 

“I want to see justice done,” declared the 
lawyer. “If poor, ignorant people are being 


282 


VANCE SEVIER. 


injured, our club will not take a hand in it. I 
am fond of hunting and fishing, but I will never 
allow my love of sport to be the cause of in- 
flicting distress upon the needy. Hurry, 
Vance 

They hastened out, and to their surprise saw 
Uri Tuggle seated as driver upon an upturned 
box. 

know the way to Murphy,’^ explained Uri, 
‘^and I can drive. I did not want to part from 
Vance just yet.” 

fear you and Vance will have to separate, 
though, after we reach Murphy,” volunteered 
Mr. Martel, as he was being helped into the 
buckboard. ‘‘My impression is that he and 1 
will have to take the first train for Savannah.” 

‘.‘This is exceedingly good of you, Uri,” said 
Vance. “But hold on! I must tell Arizony 
good-by.” 

He was out and into the storekeeper’s house 
in half a minute. When he came back he whis- 
pered to Uri that he had told Arizony he was 


VANCE SEVIER. 


283 


coming back here when things at his home were 
satisfactorily settled. 

‘‘In fact, Uri,’’ added the generons-hearted, 
impulsive youth, “I like you both so well that 
I am determined to have you down in South 
Georgia for a long visit. ’ ’ 

By this time, all the preliminaries having 
been settled, they were going at a brisk pace 
toward Murphy behind two big mules, with Uri 
flicking them with the whip now and then, while 
Mr. Martel gently snored as his bunchy figure 
swayed to and fro under the motion of the buck- 
board. 

The two boys talked and talked ; youth easily 
does without sleep. The bright stars, the swing- 
ing motion, the mental excitement attendant 
upon an unusual situation, kept them not only 
wakeful, but lively and talkative. 

« 

Day was breaking when they rolled into Mur- 
phy. While Uri attended to the team, Mr. Mar- 
tel and Vance entered the one hotel of the place, 


284 


VANCE SEVIER. 


wrote their names upon the register, bespoke 
rooms and breakfast and inquired after the in- 
jured stranger. 

‘‘We are just from Crunch ’s,’’ explained 
Martel. 

“Perhaps you are the party the injured man 
is so anxious to see,’’ said the clerk, looking 
curiously at Vance. 


CHAPTER XXV. 
baya's statement. 

‘‘I am Vance Sevier/^ replied the young sur- 
veyor. ‘^This is Mr. Martel, of New York.’^ 
remarked the clerk, as responsively as 
if he had not already noticed the register. ‘ ^ Step 
this way, if you please.’^ 

‘‘Had we not better have breakfast first! 
asked Martel, who was feeling hungry and used 
up. 

“I reckon Mr. Sevier had better come in at 
once,’’ suggested the clerk. “He may drop off 
at any minute. ’ ’ 

“What is his name!” inquired Vance, as the 
three walked along an upper piazza. 

“He declines to give it, for some reason. Here 
is his door. Ah, doctor ! This is the Mr. Sevier 
that has been ’phoned for to Cranch’s.” 

285 


286 


VANCE SEVIER. 


An elderly, grave-looking man had answered 
the clerk’s low rap. 

‘‘This way, gentlemen,” said the doctor. 
“Step lightly, please. He is very low.” 

At a glance, Vance saw that the dying man 
was the person who had called himself Martel, 
and whose real name was Baya. At first they 
thought he must be past speech, if not conscious- 
ness. He lay with closed eyes, his breathing 
scarcely perceptible and his face the color of 
wax. His features wore the tense, distorted, 
despairing expression that often attends a pain- 
ful death. 

“Vance Sevier is here,” announced the doc- 
tor, bending low over the patient. “Vance 
—Sevier! Do you hear me!” 

The name seemed to catch Baya’s attention. 
His eyes opened suddenly, falling on both Mar- 
tel and Vance. The sight of the former seemed 
to surprise him, for he whispered : 

“You— here!” Martel nodded. “It mat- 
ters not. Come here— Vance. ’ ’ 


VANCE SEVIER. 


287 


The youth knelt at the bedside and took 
Baya’s hand. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Baya, ’ ’ said the boy, ‘ ‘ I am sorry to see 
you in this condition. Why have you done me 
this wrong? Did I ever injure you in any way?’’ 

‘‘Paper— signed— lawyer,” replied the dying 
man. “Explains all. Go see— Summerlin— ” 

He subsided amid a series of gaspings pain- 
ful to hear, but pointed to the doctor. 

“Fearing that you might not arrive,” said 
the physician, “he sent for a lawyer, who is also 
a notary public, and made a statement, which 
was written out and which he managed to sign 
in my presence and that of the lawyer. We 
alone learned his name. He insisted that it 
should not be made public until after his death. 
Doubtless he felt sensitive upon the subject. 
Perhaps I had better administer a stimulant, as 
he is sinking fast.” 

This the doctor did. Then Vance again took 
Baya’s hand. 

“If you are unable to answer me in words, 
please give me some sign that I can understand 


288 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Will I be able to recover that deed by means of 
your statement, Mr. BayaT’ 

‘‘You will— know— all— I know,’’ whispered 
Baya, who was beginning to revive a little 
under the doctor’s efforts. 

“Can I recover it? Oh, do not hold back 
anything! We are ruined without that deed.” 

Vance spoke earnestly, and his anxiety evi- 
dently impressed Baya, who evinced signs of 
mental distress. 

“Sorry— for what— I did. Go see Summer- 
lin at once. At— once.” 

After that he lay exhausted, his breathing 
fainter than before. But Vance could not for- 
bear one more question. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Baya, ’ ’ he continued, ‘ ‘ I am truly sorry 
that you have sustained such an accident. Yet 
I would be glad to have you, if you can, tell me 
how you found out that I had that old grant 
with me.” 

“Old— Pomp— ” A pause of exhaustion. 
“Old— Pomp— bribed. Read statement. It 
will — ” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


289 


Here his strength utterly gave way, and he 
relapsed into unconscionsness. Nor did he re- 
cover, bnt breathed his last within two honrs. 

His injuries, aside from fractured ribs and a 
crushed limb, were mostly internal. 

Apparently the shrewd, unscrupulous lawyer, 
tempted by the two thousand dollars offered by 
Summerlin for the foreign grant, quickly real- 
ized his true situation. The spark of honest 
manhood that had lain dormant within him 
awoke. Though sensitive about his name, he 
boldly made such amends as he could. 

Before leaving Murphy, Mr. Martel arranged 
to have Baya’s relatives in Way Cross notified 
of his untimely death. 

Meanwhile Uri had been moping down stairs. 
As the hour approached for parting from 
Vance, he dreaded the ordeal. It was only after 
repeated assurances on the part of the young 
surveyor, that the mountain boy plucked up 
spirit. 

‘H hate the mountains,^’ he said. ‘H want to 


290 


VANCE SEVIER. 


be out in the world, working at something that 
will enable me to fit myself to be somebody. ’ ’ 

Mr. Martel eyed him sympathetically. The 
old lawyer, as has been demonstrated already, 
was a man of sudden determinations. 

Could you ’phone back to Cranch’s and ar- 
range to have Arizony cared for and taken back 
home!” he asked. 

‘‘Mr. Gooch will keep her at his house and 
send her home the first chance. Mrs. Gooch 
thinks lots of Arizony.” 

“All right! I will fix it so Gooch will lose 
nothing. How would you like to go on with 
Vance and myself!” 

Uri’s eyes sparkled, but he looked at his 
home-made clothes rather ruefully. 

“I would give two years of my life to go,” he 
responded; “and I will do anything— help in 
any way I can. But, I fear my clothes—” 

“Pshaw! We will take a through car to At- 
lanta. There you can procure an outfit. What 
more do you want!” 


iVANCE SEVIER. 


291 


‘‘Nothing, surely! But I— I have so little 
money of my own— 

“I will fix all that,’’ said Mr. Martel, briskly. 
“You and your sister have been of great ser- 
vice to us. It is right that I should do some- 
thing in return. Arizony positively refused to 
accept money from me. ‘Help Uri,’ she said, 
‘if you think you owe us anything.’ I have ar- 
ranged already with Mr. Gooch to send her 
some things from his store when she gets home. 
I shall also send her a box of girl’s ‘fixings,’ 
later on. Now I am going to help you. You 
must allow me to. We can soon find plenty of 
work for so willing and capable a lad as you 
are. There! It is settled. Don’t bother me 
with thanks— I hate thanks!” 

Then they went in to breakfast. Uri ar- 
ranged to have the mules and the buckboard 
sent back to Cranch’s. After the meal was over 
Mr. Martel and Vance walked to the office of 
the lawyer who had drawn up Baya’s state- 
ment. 


292 


VANCE SEVIER. 


That gentleman had just arrived from his 
home. He gave up the document promptly, and 
volunteered the opinion that he believed Bay a 
to be telling only the strict truth. The paper 
bore the official seal, and Mr. Martel arranged 
for both lawyer ^s and doctor ^s further state- 
ments to be taken in the form of affidavits, if 
such a course should be considered necessary. 

Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Martel, Vance 
and Uri were on a south-bound train, flying 
across the country towards Atlanta. 

‘‘Now we will look into this statement,’’ said 
the lawyer. “We are on our way to Savannah, 
to see Summerlin, as Baya urged. This paper 
promises to become our further guide. Let us 
see what it says.” 

Baya’s statement may be summarized as fol- 
lows : 

He had known of Summerlin’s anxiety to ob- 
tain a right to the twenty-six thousand acres 
in the South Okeefenoke Swamp, and known as 
the Old Palacio Grant. Summerlin had tried 
the Palacio heirs in Spain, but learned that the 


VANCE SEVIER. 


293 


land had already been sold. His agent there 
also learned that, by some red tape circumlocu- 
tion of Spanish law, the grant would lapse if 
the original deed were destroyed. 

He then bent his energies to gain possession 
of the ancient deed, hut failed in Spain. When 
Vance’s family finally received it, he secretly 
continued his efforts, finding a willing and un- 
scrupulous agent in Attorney Baya, especially 
after Summerlin had secretly offered two thou- 
sand dollars to any one who would place it in 
his hands without detection. He realized that 
self-interest would prevent the thief from mak- 
ing the theft known. 

But Summerlin had not taken into consider- 
ation the fact of a deathbed confession, nor 
that the wealthy New York lawyer, to whom he 
had made known the Wetmore Tract, would 
come in contact, through a curious conjunction 
of circumstances, with the son of the man 
whose family he was trying to defraud. 

During his machinations Baya had come to 
know old Pomp, the aged negro, who had 


294 


VANCE SEVIER. 


grown gray in the service of the Seviers. But 
Pomp was miserly; he loved the glitter of gold. 
When Baya began to cross his wrinkled palm 
with five-doll ar gold pieces, at the same time 
promising him certain ten and twenty-dollar 
coins, fidelity and honesty gave way before 
avarice. 

It was upon news from old Pomp that the 
raid upon the plantation was made. But the 
raiders were two days too late, for Vance had 
taken away the all-important papers, unknown 
to the negro. 

After the raid. Pomp foupd out the truth 
from Mrs. Sevier’s unguarded statements. 
Thereupon Pomp posted in haste to Way 
Cw)ss, told Baya, who, after ascertaining to a 
tolerable certainty that Vance had not depos- 
ited the deed with any one there for safe-keep- 
ing, was greatly cast down. Vance might now 
place the deed where it would be impossible 
to lay hands on it. 

While he was in this frame of mind, Vance’s 
friend, to whom the boy had told something of 


VANCE SEVIER. 


295 


his diJEculties, happened to drop a careless 
word or two in conversation with Baya, not 
knowing the attorney’s secret desire to obtain 
the document. Baya skillfully questioned him, 
and learned enough to make him determine 
upon a rather desperate plan. 

Old Pomp had once seen the ancient parch- 
ment deed, when folded, and he had described 
its appearance to Baya. The latter procured 
a faded substitute as we have seen, and started 
for the mountains, having learned through Jed 
Summerlin the boy’s business and destination. 
Summerlin also told Baya about Martel’s ar- 
rival in western North Carolina, he being in 
correspondence with the New York lawyer and 
sportsman. So Baya went to Asheville, 
learned enough of Martel’s plans to answer his 
purpose, and also that none of Captain Bird- 
well’s party had ever seen Martel. He also 
learned that Martel might remain in Asheville 
for some time, a plan which the lawyer sud- 
denly changed a day or two later on. 

Baya then resolved to adopt the bold and 


296 


VANCE SEVIER. 


daring expedient which he did carry out, 
thinking that as Martel he would have a bet- 
ter chance to accomplish his design than as a 
stranger to all concerned. Vance had never 
seen Baya, although knowing him well by repu- 
tation, and that he was Summerlin ^s agent. 

Vance had been in the West the previous 
year, while Summerlin ^s plans were maturing, 
and thus had known of things only by his 
mother ^s letters and statements. 

Baya^s confession, carefully perused by the 
three, made clear to them the facts as above re- 
counted, besides others which will soon appear. 

Meanwhile they were nearing Atlanta. At 
a clothing store close to the depot Uri was 
quickly fitted out immediately after his arrival. 
Then came a hurried luncheon, after which they 
departed for Savannah. 

They had not forgotten to arrange with 
Gooch to have their things at Tuggles’ cared 
for until further instructions. And now the 
three were impatient to reach Savannah and 


VANCE SEVIER. 


297 


present themselves before the redoubtable Jed 
Summerlin for a final settlement. 

^‘Witb this sworn statement in our bands, 
Summerlin has not a leg to stand on, ^ ’ observed 
Martel. ^AVe can send him to Statens prison, 
and old Pomp as well. ^ ^ 

‘‘He has the original deed,’^ said Vance. 
“Baya sent it to him from Murphy by express, 
and that lawyer gave us the express company’s 
receipt. But suppose Summerlin refuses to 
give up the deed, unless we insure him immun- 
ity from punishment?” 

“Well put, my boy,” replied the New York 
lawyer. “It is true that the unfortunate man 
sent Summerlin the precious document, as bis 
statement and the express receipt bear out. 
What a pity be did not retain it on his person 
with the view of taking it to Summerlin him- 
self.” 

“He did not, however. What had we better 
do?” 


298 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


‘‘Do! You let me manage him. I am a law- 
yer. All you need do is to assent to whatever 
I may see fit to do or say. ’ ^ 

And Mr. Martel smiled knowingly, while his 
small eyes twinkled. 

Night was well advanced when they reached 
Savannah. Nevertheless, Mr. Martel called a 
hack, and drove to the police station, where he 
was closeted with the chief of police for a few 
minutes, while the boys waited in an outer of- 
fice. Vance had thankfully invested Mr. Martel 
with full authority to act as his attorney. 

At last Mr. Martel came forth. He seated 
himself with an air of resignation. 

‘ ‘ I trust we will not have to wait here long, ^ ' 
said Vance. “I am impatient to confront 
Summerlin. ’ ’ 

“My dear boy, take things easy. We may 
have to remain here an hour or so.” 

“Is Summerlin not at home?” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


299 


‘‘Don^t know. Wait, wait, wait! If I do say 
it, you are in good hands. The most will be 
made of your chances that can be made.” 

‘‘I know that, Mr. Martel.” 

Vance began to reproach himself for his im- 
patience when he remembered all that this New 
York man had done for him already. 

Presently a trim-built, well-dressed man of 
about thirty years walked in, with his hat on. 
He passed straight in to the chief’s office, and 
after a moment or two returned, accompanied 
by his official superior, who conducted him up 
to where the three were seated. 

‘^This is Mr. Carton,” said the chief— ^ ‘one 
of our best city detectives. He informs me 
that Mr. Summerlin has left town.” 

A chill fell upon Vance’s heart. Uri thought 
“we will never find him now. ’ ’ To his primitive 
imaginings, this world had suddenly become a 
very large place. But the lawyer, the detec- 
tive and the chief of police talked on compos- 
edly, as if such disappearances were hardly 
worth taking notice of. 


300 


VANCE SEVIER. 


left on the morning train for Way 
Cross,’’ stated Mr. Carton, whereat Vance al- 
most jumped from his seat. ^‘Before leaving 
he drew three thousand dollars from the bank 
where he deposits. Two men were in his com- 
pany, who are known to the police as suspicious 
characters. ’ ’ 

‘‘You have found out a lot of things in a 
mighty short time,” said Vance. 

Mr. Martel winked at the chief. 

‘ ‘ Short time ! ’ ’ repeated the lawyer. ‘ ‘ I tele- 
graphed to Savannah^ from Atlanta, while you 
and Uri were looking about the depot. Told 
them to keep an eye on Summerlin without let- 
ting him know. Hang it! I wish I had told 
them to arrest the man. We would have been 
talking with him now.” 

Vance and Uri transferred some more of 
their admiration to Mr. Martel. Carton and 
the chief of police conferred together apart. 

“You say you want a good man to go on with 
youU’ said the chief to Martel. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


301 


do. I have an idea that if Summerlin 
has the deed in his possession, he looks upon 
the land as his, and has gone on to have it run 
off, or something. We may have trouble. In 
that case, an experienced officer— one with 
good grit, and muscle to back it— might come in 
handy. We may have some searching to do as 
well. ’ ’ 

^^Mr. Carton is your man. You could hardly 
find a better one.’’ 

‘‘I feel sure of that,” replied Ma'rtel. 

And so it was decided that Carton should ac- 
company them, and he was supplied with a 
warrant for Summerlin’s arrest. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


POOK OLD POMP. 

Early the following morning, after some 
sleep and a good breakfast, the three, accom- 
panied by the detective, left for Way Cross, 
where they arrived about the middle of the 
afternoon. 

Here Vance and IJri left the others, and 
started in a buggy for the former’s home, leav- 
ing Martel and Carton to investigate matters 
concerning Summerlin at Way Cross. 

^ Won will want to see your mother,” said the 
considerate lawyer. ‘‘Look for us in the morn 
ing, as I feel sure that Summerlin will make 
for Okeefenoke. There his interest lies. He 
will want to have his title perfected, the land 
sold and the money in his pocket as soon as 
possible, for fear of slip-ups. Ha, ha, ha ! There 
is a big one on his trail right now.” 


302 


VANCE SEVIER. 


303 


As Vance and Uri rode through the tall, 
South Georgia pines, with the loamy soil car- 
peted with long wire grass, the mountain boy 
kept looking about him, as if he could not see 
enough of this, to him, strange, yet lovely syl- 
van landscape. 

Pines— pines everywhere, and the land so 
level that every side looks alike, he com- 
mented. ^^The grass blades look like knitting- 
needles, and the roads seem to fork off in every 
direction. I wonder you don’t get lost.” 

‘^Well, I am in this country what you are in 
the mountains,” laughed Vance. ‘‘I am used 
to it. Then, you see, there are the large plan- 
tations. We pass one pretty often, and it keeps 
one from going astray by greeting one with an 
old familiar look.” 

By-and-by the old brick mansion where the 
Seviers lived came in sight, with its fine avenue 
of live-oaks, its Greek portico, and its collec- 
tion of log and board outbuildings to the rear. 

Mrs. Sevier was at the door. With her was 


304 


VANCE. SEVIEB. 


nine-year-old Harold and six-year-old Nan. 
Vance was hugged, kissed, questioned and ex- 
claimed over, before he had a chance to turn to 
Uri. 

Mother,’’ said he, “here is a friend you 
must be very good to, for he has done more for 
me than any other boy, though we have known 
each other but a short time. ’ ’ 

Then he briefly told what he and TJri had 
gone through together. After that, the moun- 
tain boy was made to feel at home. 

Mrs. Sevier finally drew Vance into the li- 
brary, and received from him an account of his 
adventures and the full historj^ of Baya’s con- 
nection with the Palacio deed. What im- 
pressed the lady most was old Pomp’s defec- 
tion. 

“I can hardly believe it!” she said, her eyes 
filling; for the servant of years had always re- 
tained a strong place in her regard. “Let us 
send for him. He may be able to explain— 
Stay! There was a rough-looking man who 


VANCE SEVIER. 


305 


asked for Pomp at the kitchen, so my maid 
Delia said.’^ 

^‘Send for him if you wish, mother. The 
proof against him is too strong, I fear, to be 
refuted.’’ 

But Pomp was not to be found. One of the 
stable hands had observed the old negro and 
the strange man walking through the pines to- 
gether. Since that Pomp had not been seen by 
any one about the place. 

‘‘That looks suspicious, mother. He knows 
he is suspected, very likely, and he has vamosed 
the ranch. ’ ’ 

“I am so sorry! The children will cry. Poor 
old Pomp! He always did love money. Do 
you suppose they could have bribed him in that 
way! It is a burning shame!” 

When supper came and there was no Pomp, 
but only Delia to wait at table, Harold 
grumbled and Nan wept loudly. Even Vance 
felt grieved that Pomp should have so fallen. 


306 


VANCE SEVIER. 


In the morning along came Mr. Martel and 
Detective Carton, in a smart livery rig. Be- 
hind them, in a light road wagon, driven by a 
negro, sat a white man, with two long-eared, 
narrow-eyed bloodhounds, with black, pointed 
muzzles and dun-red backs, that brightened 
into a mottled lemon color under their flanks. 

Breakfast was laid in the back piazza, and 
the disappearance of old Pomp duly dilated 
upon for the benefit of Mr. Martel and Carton. 
Mr. Martel was especially polite to the widow. 

Those dogs will solve the mystery of 
Pomp’s disappearance, my dear madam. Mr. 
Malk, ’ ’ indicating the owner of the hounds, 
who was quietly eating, ‘‘says they will follow 
a negro’s track two days old.” 

“Providing it has not rained hard,” cor- 
rected Mr. Malk. 

“Precisely. And now let me tell you, Sum- 
merlin is in a close place. He has gone into 
Okeefenoke with a gang of men. We found 
that out. We have Barton, Baya’s partner, un- 
der arrest, though he protests his innocence.” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


307 


It was concluded to take along two stout ne- 
gro guides on the trip into the swamp that was 
now to be undertaken. These, including Mr. 
Malk, brought the party up to seven. All were 
well armed. The negroes were thoroughly fa- 
miliar with the swamp, having lived on the edge 
of it all their lives. 

Provisions, packed on a mule, were dis- 
patched to a point where they were to be placed 
in swamp canoes. Farewells were said and the 
party started, leaving Mrs. Sevier and the chil- 
dren waving and looking, all three specially 
grieved over Vance’s sudden departure, yet en- 
couraged by thinking that he would probably 
soon return. 

Mr. Malk, taking one of old Pomp’s coats, 
went with his dogs to the point where the negro 
was last seen. The bloodhounds soon struck 
the trail. For two hours they patiently fol- 
lowed. The trail quickly entered the swamp, 
kept to the higher parts or islands, while all the 
time the traveling grew more difficult. At last 


308 


VANCE SEVIER. 


the hounds stopped and began a series of mel- 
ancholy howls. 

‘‘Look out!” cautioned Mr. Malk. “Those 
dogs have found it.” 

“ZL^” Why did not Mr. Malk say “himT^ 

The rest hurried forward, Mr. Martel, puf- 
fing and red, yet resolute. Malk led the way 
and parted the gallberry bushes where the 
hounds were. The others followed. A ghastly 
sight was revealed. 

Old Pomp lay prone upon the oozy soil, dead. 
He had been shot through the head. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 

THKOUGH THE HEART OF THE OKBEFENOKE. 

All were struck with horror. Vance, forget- 
ting the old negro’s recent misconduct, and 
thinking only of his long service and affection 
for the family, sank to his knees and gazed at 
the dead man in sincere sorrow. Mr. Carton 
picked up an old-fashioned leather purse. It 
was empty; so, too, were the old man’s pockets. 

Signs of a severe struggle were apparent, the 
grass and bushes being heavily trampled. Foot- 
marks also sank deep into the swampy soil. 

Carton took careful measurements, then an- 
nounced : 

^ ‘ The negro was killed by one man. The man 
who killed him wears a number seven shoe, 
probably a brogan. Pomp’s foot, as you see, 
is larger. I should say that he was decoyed 
here to be murdered, the robbery being inci- 

309 


310 


VANCE SEVIER. 


dental thereto. The old negro knew too ranch. 
Therefore he must be put ont of the way. But 
for these hounds, the body might have lain un- 
discovered until the buzzards had picked the 
bones clean. Who now would be most inter- 
ested in getting Pomp out of the wayT’ 

‘‘Jed Summerlin,’’ was the answer that in- 
voluntarily rose to every lip. 

“I think we here can secure a hold on Sum- 
merlin, which will bring him eventually to jus- 
tice, regardless of this Palacio Grant affair. 
Of course, he did not kill Pomp himself, but he 
doubtless had it done. That is my theory,” 
concluded Mr. Carton. 

The two negroes were dispatched to bring up 
canoes, for the swamp was permeated by an 
endless labyrinth of little channels navigable 
only for small dugouts. 

WJien the canoes arrived they were paddled 
to within fifty yards of the body. Two more 
negroes had been brought along to take back 
all that was mortal of poor old Pomp. 


VANCE SEVIEE. 


311 


Then an effort was made to follow up the 
trail of the murderer, but without success, ow- 
ing to the probability that he had taken to the 
shallow water. 

As the little channels ran in every direction, 
the attempt was soon given up. 

^‘Now for the Palacio Grant!’’ said Mr. Mar- 
tel. ^^How long will it take us to reach it, 
Coss?” 

^‘We hatter camp at Tupelo Island to-night,” 
replied the elder of the two negro guides. ‘Mf 
we has good luck we oughter git dar in de 
mawnin’, some time.” 

The rest of the day was consumed in a weary 
paddle through the great swamp. Many turns 
were made, though the general direction was 
southward. 

There were large, comparatively open 
spaces, covered by bushes, interspersed with a 
kind of ‘‘saw grass,” yet these were always in- 
tersected by little shallow waterways between. 
There were other larger spaces covered by a 
gigantic growth of semi-tropical trees, such as 


312 


VANCE SEVIER. 


bay, gum, magnolia, box-wood, tupelo and 
palmetto, all heavily festooned with gray moss 
that streamed dolefully, giving the forest a 
curious sort of weeping aspect, not unlike that 
suggested by a group of weeping willows. 

The peculiarly dolorous swamp cries and 
rustlings punctuated the shadowy silence of 
these gloomy timbered islands in a depressing 
manner. 

The shrill squall of the red-headed wood- 
pecker, the bittern’s harsh call, the gray crane’s 
1 asping screech, were so much more dismal than 
the notes of the mountain birds, that Uri grew 
uncomfortable. 

To the mountain boy, the endless flatness of 
the ground and the greedy riot of vegetation, 
though at first wonderful, became at length 
tiresome and depressing. The abundance and 
troublesomeness of insects, the close glimpses 
of rusty-looking water snakes, disgusted and 
t>7orried him. Vance, however, only laughed at 
Ills growing disquietude. 

Tupelo Island was reached about sundown. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


313 


These swamp islands are not islands in the 
proper sense, but merely greater or less spaces 
of slightly higher and drier ground, covered by 
heavy timber. 

Some of the islands are inhabited and culti- 
vated ; but our party came across none of these, 
as their route lay through the wilder and more 
remote parts of the big swamp. 

Nothing occurred that night worth particu- 
larizing. Owing to the absence of mosquito- 
bars, the party were greatly troubled by these 
insects. The negroes slept calmly, on the lee 
side of a ‘ ^ big smoke, ’ ’ consisting of damp, rot- 
ten wood, laid on a bed of oak coals; but the 
white men on their pallets fought, tossed 
dozed, objurgated, with occasional intervals of 
rising and sitting by the fire until morning. 
After an early breakfast, they were off again, 
still headed southward. 

‘‘How do you fellows manage to know where 
to goV’ Uri at last asked the negro guides, 
who, one in each boat, appeared to pursue their 
course by a sort of divination. ‘ ‘ In the Smokies 


314 


VANCE SEVIER. 


you can get on a high point now and then and 
see where you are ; but here, you not only have 
to turn every which way, but every direction 
looks alike to me.’’ 

‘‘We war raised in de swamp, lak you war 
raised in de mount ’ins,” replied Coss. “I 
reckon dats erbout all dey is in hit. Mount ’ins? 
Sho, I ain’t never scercely know what moun- 
t’ins is !” 

There was a general smile at this. After 
awhile they came in sight of a tall granite pil- 
lar, on a small rise of ground, with the under- 
growth cleared away for some distance on each 
side. 

“State line!” ejaculated Coss. Then, as he 
gave another sweep or two of his paddle and 
passed the incongruous-looking monument, he 
added. “Now we is in Fluridy!” 

After another hour of monotonous paddling, 
they came to a wide ditch, thrown up by human 
labor, that ran east and west, though following 
to some extent the sinuosities of the water- 


ways. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


315 


^ ‘ This is the canal, that has recently been dug 
for the purpose of floating timber, I suppose,’’ 
remarked Martel. 

^‘Yes, sah,” said Coss. ‘‘We turns right up 
dish yere way, kaze hit will soon take us whar 
we wants to go.” 

A little later on, Coss announced that they 
were on the Palacio Grant. The cypresses had 
gradually increased in size and number, until 
the canoes were threading their way beneath a 
vast forest of high-spreading, large-bodied 
trees, rising out of the black ooze, like immense 
columns of russet stone. 

“No wonder Summerlin was anxious to own 
this timber, ’ ’ observed the lawyer. ‘ ‘ There are 
two or three fortunes here for somebody.” 

They folowed the course of the canal for an- 
other mile or so, the giant cypresses continually 
extorting admiration from the business-like 
lawyer. 

Finally the waterway turned gradually, and, 
after sweeping around a thickly timbered “is- 
land,” lost itself in a bayou of unusual width 


316 


VANCE SEVIER. 


and depth, with a small clearing on one side. 

There were several palmetto-thatched huts 
scattered about. One small log-house was close 
to the water ’s edge and a tent was pitched upon 
a slight rise, where the ground was dryer than 
elsewhere. 

A number of white men and negroes were to 
be seen. Two of them were sighting across the 
bayou with a surveyor's instrument. As the 
canoes came On sight, a tall man, wearing a 
large slouch hat and a belt full of cartridges, 
left the tent and walked out on a small wharf. 
His trousers were tucked into a pair of high 
boots. 

^^Be careful what you do or say,^^ cautioned 
the detective. ‘^That is Jed Summerlin, and he 
looks dangerous.’’ 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

VANCE AGAIN SHOWS HIS SKILL, 

The canoes were still fifty yards from the 
wharf. Mr. Carton continued his instructions, 
while Summerlin, after inspecting the new ar- 
rivals, turned and made a slight signal to his 
men, who began to gather near the log hut. 
Presently every one of them, by some means, 
had become possessed of a gun. 

‘‘They suspect mischief,’’ said Carton. 
“Summerlin knows me, and I already recog- 
nize two well-known Savannah toughs.” 

The canoes advanced more slowly under the 
detective’s instructions. 

“They outnumber us,” added the officer. 
“We must use diplomacy. Do not let them 
know just what our business is until I give the 
signal. Does Summerlin know you?” 

This to Vance, who replied: 


317 


318 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘‘He has undoubtedly heard of me; but I 
have been absent from these parts so much that 
he may not recognize me personally. ’ ^ 

“If he does not recognize you,’^ continued 
the detective, “do not make yourself known just 
yet.'' 

By this time the foremost canoe was within 
easy speaking distance of the wharf. Each one 
of the occupants, though apparently unarmed, 
had his weapon within reach— in fact, rifles 
were lying about in plain sight, as if carelessly 
thrown down. 

“Hello, Summerlin!" began Carton. “What 
the mischief are you doing down in these 
parts ? ' ' 

“W^y, howdy. Carton! After anything down 
here in a professional way!" 

“Is it likely? I suppose even a detective can 
take an outing in Okeefenoke now and then." 

“Oh, of course! Come ashore! WIio are 
our friends?" 


VANCE SEVIER. 


319 


While speaking, Summerlin’s dark, piercing 
eyes had been traveling warily from one mem- 
ber of the party to another. He evidently was 
not satisfied. 

Carton whispered to Martel, who was near- 
est: 

‘‘Before resorting to more roundabout 
means, I will make an effort to get between 
Summerlin and the shore. You and the boys 
must be ready to support me. Do nothing until 
I tip you the sign. Palaver is the word just 
now.” 

Both Martel and the boys instantly appre- 
hended Carton’s immediate purpose. They 
wanted Summerlin first of all. If they could 
capture him by a sudden coup-de-main, well 
and good; if not, then the farce of diplomacy 
must be kept up as long as possible, while await- 
ing further developments. 

The men at the log hut now slowly advanced 
toward the bank. Summerlin, who had been 


320 


VANCE SEVIER. 


scrutinizing Martel closely, suddenly called 
out: 

‘‘Look here! Isn^t that John Martel!’’ 

Carton gave the lawyer an almost imper- 
ceptible signal to assent. At the same time their 
canoe was edging toward a point on the wharf, 
which would enable the detective, by a sudden 
leap, to place himself between Summerlin and 
the men on shore. 

“Martel is my name. Pleased to see you, 
Mr. Summerlin. Ah, that Wetmore purchase 
you got me into proved to be a regular hot- 
water affair! I have come down to look into 
the Palacio Grant land that you have written 
so much about lately. No more pig-in-a-poke 
business for me, Mr. Summerlin.” 

Thus spoke Martel, in a jovial, off-hand way, 
while the detective prepared to leap on to the 
wharf. Vance was close behind. Carton 
furtively passed him a revolver. To openly 
pick up their rifles would have excited suspi- 
cion, or so reasoned the officer. But just as the 
forward canoe sidled against ‘the palmetto logs 


VANCE SEVIER. 


321 


forming the side of the wharf, Summerlin came 
back with hand outstretched, saying to Martel: 

Shake, old man. Glad to see you, if you 
have grown suspicious. But there is nothing 
crooked about this Palacio Grant. Why, man, 
there ^s a million dollars worth of cypress in 
sight, and ten thousand dollars more canalling 
will put it in market!’^ 

While speaking, Summerlin had placed him- 
self so near the shore that Carton’s purpose of 
inlmediate capture became impracticable. The 
detective helped Martel on to the wharf, at the 
same time whispering in his ear; 

‘^Give him plenty of guff for the present.” 
Then to Vance and Uri: ‘‘Don’t let on. You 
are two young friends of mine down for sport. 
Leave me to explain.” 

Jed Summerlin and Martel were greeting 
each with apparent warmth. The boys and the 
detective also mounted the wharf. 

At this juncture, Jed took another look at 
Vance. 


322 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘‘I do not know yon young fellows,’’ he said; 
“but if you are with Martel, I reckon it is all 
right.” 

“Of course it is,” replied Carton. “Don’t 
be suspicious, Mr. Summerlin. These boys want 
to knock over a deer or two.” 

“I cannot see, Martel, what you want of a 
detective along. Let us go to my tent.” 

“Look yere, Marse Vance,” called out the 
unwary Coss from the other canoe. “Does you 
want out all de camp fixin’s?” 

At sound of the young surveyor’s name, 
Summerlin started. Carton saw that a blunder 
had been made. 

“Boy,” called out the speculator to Coss, 
who was helping Mr. Malk to put the dogs on 
the wharf, and did not notice Carton’s warning 
signal to be cautious, “who do you mean by 
‘Marse Vance?’ Are not you a Charlton 
County negro?” 

“Cou’se I is, sah! I used ter ’long to de 


VANCE SEVIER. 


323 


Seviers. Dat’s young Marse Sevier standin^ 
right sider you now.’^ 

‘‘The mischief is out/^ whispered Carton in 
MarteEs ear. “Look out for squalls.’^ 

“I see/’ muttered the speculator, his hawk- 
like face and kindling eye denoting that his 
mind had instantly jumped to a hostile conclu- 
sion. “Young fellow,” seizing Vance by the 
arm, “you come along with me.” 

And he forthwith began to drag Vance along 
the wharf. 

His men, divining instantly that their leader 
was menaced, crowded down to the wharf, with 
their guns in hand. But Vance did not lose his 
presence of mind. Summerlin was very strong. 
Instead of opposing himself to this strength, 
Vance adroitly made it aid his suddenly formed 
purpose. 

Carton motioned to the negro in the nearest 
canoe to paddle closer in to shore. The detec- 
tive felt that each one of them must make a 
leap from the wharf. He called on Uri to help 


324 


VANCE SEVIER. 


him pull Vance back before Summerlin’s fol- 
lowers should reach and aid their leader. 

But at this juncture all parties witnessed an- 
other one of those astonishing feats of wrestling 
agility and sleight of hand with which young 
Sevier had already surprised Uri and others. 

Vance Sevier, are youT’ exclaimed Sum- 
merlin, still dragging the boy along. ‘‘Now 
that I have you here, you shall not trouble me 
any more over this Palacio Grant—” 

Summerlin’s words were abruptly termi- 
nated by a lightning-like trip on the part of 
Vance, assisted by a vigorous side twist. The. 
man’s own bodily momentum did the rest, and 
he pitched headlong, not upon the wharf, but 
into the stout dugout alongside, shaking it well, 
and scaring the negro guide. Vance followed, 
half dragged by the speculator’s grip. 

Summerlin fell heavily, his head striking the 
bottom of the canoe. Vance’s fall was broken 
by his thumping down upon the prostrate man. 
Carton instantly saw his chance. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


325 


‘‘All aboard again he shouted, leaping into 
the stern of the canoe and taking up a paddle. 

An angry shout from the men on shore was 
followed by a rush upon the wharf. Uri had 
also safely jumped. 

“Push off!’’ cried Martel, bravely, seeing 
that Carton’s chance to capture Summerlin had 
unexpectedly arrived. “Push off. Never miud 
me.” 

He ran to the second canoe, on board of 
which Malk was throwing his dogs, and the two 
managed to scramble in, while Coss, thoroughly 
frightened at the etfect produced by his indis- 
creet avowal, gave the boat a push from the 
wharf that sent it twenty feet away. 

The first canoe had likewise gotten off 
safely. 

“Halt, out thar!” ordered a thick-set, sav- 
age-faced man, with a coarse, curling yellow 
beard. “Bring our boss back, will ye, or we’ll 
have a shootin’ match afore we’re two minutes 
older.” 


326 


VANCE SEVIER. 


Half a dozen rifles were by this time pointed 
at the canoes, while other men, with as many 
more, were getting their weapons ready. 

On board the first canoe, Jed Summerlin still 
lay as he had fallen. The force with which he 
struck the boat’s bottom had rendered him in- 
sensible. , 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

ANOTHER ARREST — CONCLUSION. 

The occupants of the canoes had also seized 
their rifles. Uri seated himself directly over 
the prostrate speculator, and, resting his elbow 
on his knees, was aiming at the man who had 
just spoken. 

‘^You are wanted, Luke Duddon,’’ exclaimed 
Carton. ‘‘You know me.” 

“Wanted, am I, Tom Carton?” replied Luke, 
in a sneering tone. “You may come back, then. 
But whether youfll take me or not, depends on 
whether I let ye live long enough. Back, all of 
ye! Both boats; or wefll riddle ye with 
bullets!” 

“Men!” said Carton, in a loud voice, to Dud- 
don’s supporters on the wharf. “You outnum- 
ber us, but we represent the law. I have a war- 
327 


328 


VANCE SEVIER. 


rant with me for the arrest of Jared Summer- 
lin. I am a Savannah city detective, and—’’ 

“Dry up!” interrupted Duddon; “or here 
goes.” 

He cocked his leveled rifle, but iTri, who now 
had a sure aim at the man on the wharf, spoke, 
in his shrill, clear voice : 

“Fire, if you want to, Duddon; but the in- 
stant your gun cracks, I will put a bullet 
through your head.” 

A commotion now seemed to be taking place 
among the white men at D addon’s back. Some 
of them were arguing with the others. It dis- 
concerted the yellow-bearded man. He turned 
his head and spoke in a low, earnest tone. 

“I know some of you men, at least, are hon- 
est, and want to do what is right,” continued 
Carton. “I assure you that Summerlin has 
laid himself liable to heavy penalties. If you 
try to aid him now, you will only bring trouble 
on yourselves. There is one more man I want. 
1 am a duly qualified officer, and I summon you 


VANCE SEVIER. 


329 


to lay hands on Luke Duddon, until I can reach 
him myself — 

^‘Is that your game, old manT^ cried Dud- 
don, as he took swift aim and fired at the de- 
tective. 

But another report had rung out the fraction 
of a second previously, and two columns of 
smoke flew upward. 

Carton lost a lock of hair. Duddon ’s trig- 
ger-hand was shattered hy Uri^s bullet. As 
Duddon swung it up and down, the mountain 
boy grumbled to himself : 

‘‘It^s as father says. I cannot shoot!’’ 

‘^Well, I guess you saved me, at any rate,” 
said Carton, coolly.. ‘‘Duddon aimed for my 
eyes. T could look into his gun-barrel!” 

“I tried to break his elbow,” said Uri. “I 
hit his hand. It was a poor shot.” 

“Arrest that fellow, men!” shouted Carton. 
“I charge him with murder. He killed old 
Pomp Sevier, whom some of you doubtless 
knew. ’ ’ 


330 


VANCE SEVIER. 


‘‘It’s a lie— a lie!” denied Duddon, looking 
up from his shattered hand. “Old Pomp and 

Then he broke off, apparently fearing that 
he might say too much. 

“Search him, men!” added Carton. “You 
will find, scratches on him, somewhere, and also 
Pomp’s money in his pocket.” 

This was partially a shrewd bluff on the de- 
tective’s part, but told. Two of the most re- 
spectable-looking men had seized Duddon. The 
latter seemed, for the instant, stunned by the 
bold confidence implied in Carton’s words. 

At their touch, he jerked loose from them, 
but was again seized. A struggle ensued. A 
dozen men, both black and white, looked on, 
most of them seemingly in sympathy with 
Duddon. 

Two other men were now seen running from 
the woods toward the wharf. Apparently they 
had been hunting, for one threw down a large 
wild turkey. 


• VANCE SEVIER. 


331 


‘‘Put me alongside,’’ ordered the detective. 

And, as the canoe again touched the side of 
the wharf, he seized Duddon by the legs. 

The man was pulled on board, still struggling 
fiercely. While he was being hand-cuffed the 
other men, roused at this, attacked the two who 
had seized Duddon. Carton saw that matters 
had come to a crisis. 

“Come on, boys!” he cried, after securing 
the prisoner. “We must help those two.” 

Accordingly, the boys and Mr. Martel again 
followed the detective on to the wharf. A hand- 
to-hand struggle ensued. The other men, 
naturally irresolute, gave way. Our party was 
joined by the two men who had first laid hands 
on Duddon. They were surveyors employed by 
Summerlin, and had no idea as to the nefarious 
nature of his plans. 

The other party, now retreating to the log 
hut, were joined by the two hunters, when a 
brief consultation took place. 

“Now is our time to get away from here,” 
said Thornley, one of the surveyors. “There 


332 


VANCE SEVIER. • 


are four more men close by, in the swamp, and 
a tough lot they are.’’ 

This suggestion was adopted, and soon the 
two canoes were being swiftly paddled toward 
the entrance to the canal. 

When the men on shore saw this manoeuvre, 
they ran down to the wharf and began firing. 
Other men also appeared from the woods. 

The new arrivals infused fresh courage in 
the hearts of those who had retreated. Bullets 
began to patter around the canoes. One of the 
negro guides dropped his paddle and lay down 
in the boat. 

‘‘This is growing pretty hot,” said Uri. 
“Let us pepper them back a little.” 

“Not on your life!” commanded Carton, 
steadily. “We have got what we came for; now 
let us get away. Only in strict self-defense does 
the law countenance the use of cold lead.” 

Every paddle was utilized and the entrance 
to the canal guickly reached. Only a portion 
of those on shore continued to fire. Several 
were to be seen running toward a small creek 


VANCE SEVIER. 


333 


that emptied into the bayou as the 'canoes shot 
out of sight. 

They now proceeded more leisurely down the 
canal. The two surveyors, Thornley and Stout, 
took places in Malk’s canoe. A cold lunch was 
served. 

Jed Summerlin was examined by Mr. Car- 
ton, who proved to be something of a doctor, 
having been a medical student at one time, pre- 
vious to his becoming a detective. 

Summerlin at length revived, hut complained 
greatly of a pain in his headt 

‘^You must remain quiet,' ’ cautioned Car- 
ton. ^^It is my impression that you may have 
sustained a slight concussion of the brain, not 
dangerous if you are careful, hut which will 
put you on the sick list for awhile, anyhow.” 

A pallet was made for him and he lay quiet 
enough, his physical suffering rendering him 
partially unmindful of the total change that had 
so suddenly taken place in his prospects. 

Carton turned to Duddon, who was complain- 
ing of his hand a good deal, and pushed up the 


334 


VANCE SEVIER. 


man’s sleeve, preparatory to dressing the 
wound. 

Hullo!” It was Uri who spoke, and his at- 
titude indicated keen attention. ‘ ‘ What is that 
sound I hear behind us, up the canal!” 

At first the others did not detect anything un- 
usual in the air; but Uri’s trained woodland in- 
stincts were presently confirmed to the rest by 
a throbbing, jarring sound that slowly in- 
creased. 

‘^What can it be!” queried Vance, looking at 
Carton. 

A hail from the other canoe attracted their 
attention. Thornly was gesticulating and 
pointing up the canal. 

^‘We must get out of this!” he cried. ^‘If 
we don’t, we are gone up!” 

‘‘It sounds like a steam engine,” said Mar- 
tel. “What is it, Mr. Thornley!” 

“It is a steam launch,” replied the survey- 
or. “I had forgotten it entirely. Summerlin 
ordered one up from St. Mary’s, and had it 
stored away in a little creek close to our camp. 


VANCE SEVIER. 


335 


Those fellows have fired up. They have no en- 
gineer, for the one who brought the launch up 
would not stay when he saw what a hole it was, 
but went back with some negroes in a canoe. 

‘^Then I suppose we are being pursued,^’ 
said Carton. 

‘‘Undoubtedly. Those men know that their 
wages, and in fact their chance of immunity 
from punishment for their lawless proceedings, 
depend on Summerlin ^s success. Summerlin 
told us all that he was going to survey and lo- 
cate the grant, perfect his government title at 
once, and sell for a big sum to a New York guy, 
who was anxious to buy. We all were to assist 
in every way we could, and, upon the sale being 
made, we were to be well paid.’^ 

“I suppose I am the New York guy,’^ re- 
marked Martel, so naively that even Summer- 
lin smiled faintly as he lay helpless. 

“I beg pardon!’^ replied Thornley. “I did 
not know that, I merely used Jed’s words. We 
all know Summerlin down our way, and I am 


336 


VANCE SEVIER. 


greatly surprised that he should have gone into 
so crooked a thing as this proves to be.’’ 

‘‘I reckon the bigness of the prize was too 
much for Jed,” said Mr. Stout, the other sur- 
veyor. ‘^But listen! They will be here in a 
minute. ’ ’ 

During this time Carton had tied Duddon’s 
ankles together. He was already handcutfed. 

don’t mean to take any chances with you, 
Luke,” said the detective. 

Meanwhile the sound of the oncoming launch 
grew louder, though a bend of the shore-line 
still hid her from view. Those in the canoes 
were paddling hard, yet their speed was nec- 
essarily less than that of their pursuers. 

‘^Can we not leave this canal and take to some 
of these little waterways 1 ’ ’ asked Martel of the 
guides. 

We gotter go a mile or two furder, marse,” 
replied Coss. Ain’t nuttin deep nufp fo’ us 
yit.” 

Presently the launch pushed her nose in 
sight. A jet of white steam shot into the air; 


VANCE SEVIER. 


337 


then a shrill whistle sounded repeatedly, as 
those behind caught sight of the canoes. The 
launch, being very small, had but two or three 
on board. Two canoes were being towed ; each 
one was full of men. « 

‘‘They will certainly overhaul us in a few 
minutes,’^ said Vance, who, with Uri, was pad- 
dling with all his might. 

Their loaded weapons lay handy. The men 
in the pursuing boats were also paddling hard 
to increase their speed. 

The launch was now within three hundred 
yards. There came a loud explosion that 
jarred the oozy earth for half a mile around. 
The spot where the launch and pursuing ca- 
noes were was hidden behind a cloud of steam, 
up through which shot the top of the small tu- 
bular boiler belonging to the launch. 

“I rather looked for this,^’ said Thornley. 
“Those rascals have let the water get too low.’’ 

When the steam blew away, the canoes were 
still pursuing, but the launch had disappeared. 


338 


VANCE SEVIER. 


except a fragment or two of the hull, to which 
two or three men were clinging. 

Now’s our time, marse!” shouted Coss. 
‘‘Let’s git away from yere!” 

Passing the fragments of the launch, they 
took otf two injured men, one of whom was 
Duddon’s Savannah partner in rascality and 
crime. Carton recognized him. 

After that our party were troubled no more 
by the Summerlin gang. Instead of returning 
to Way Cross through the swamp, as they had 
come, it was decided to keep to the canal and 
thence descend St. Mary’s river to a small vil- 
lage some ten miles down. This was quickly 
accomplished, owing to the current setting to- 
ward the sea. 

At this village additional assistance was ob- 
tained by Carton, both to guard their prison- 
ers and convey them to Way Cross. He also 
arranged with the sheriff of the county to scour 
the swamp for such others of the Summerlin 
gang as could be secured. 

After a good night’s rest, our party returned 


VANCE SEVIER. 


339 


to Way Cross, feeling much more comfortable 
than when they left it four day’s before. 

Carton took his prisoners on to Savannah, 
while Mr. Martel and the two boys, Vance and 
Uri, returned to Mrs. Sevier’s, where they re- 
ceived a warm welcome. 

Old Pomp had been buried. His recent sins 
were almost forgotten amid the shock occa- 
sioned by his terrible death. They were amply 
condoned, in the minds of his old master’s fam- 
ily, at least, by the fact of his long and other- 
wise faithful services. 

Two days later Mr. Martel went to Way 
Cross, returning with a telegram from Detec- 
tive Carton. 

^'Duddon has made a complete confession/’ it read. 
“Summerlin weakening. Bail refused by court, ow- 
ing to Summerlin being implicated in Pomp’s death, 
through said confession. (Signed), 

Thos. Carton.” 

‘‘Well, well!” exclaimed Martel. “Have 
patience, friends. Something about the old 
grant will come next.” 


340 


VANCE SEVIER. 


And so it did. The next day but one a negro 
rode up with a letter to Lawyer Martel, bear- 
ing a special delivery stamp. It was from Car- 
ton, and might be summarized as follows : 

Nearly all of old Pomp’s gold was found on 
Duddon. The three thousand dollars found on 
Summerlin’s person was, according to Duddon, 
for the purpose of silencing himself and his 
partner, if necessary ; but Carton doubted 
whether this were so. Summerlin was too 
shrewd a rascal to give so much hush money to 
a man who had so deeply incriminated himself 
as Duddon had done. Summerlin himself had 
held out well; but, in his enfeebled state of 
mind and body, his iron resolution had at last 
given away. 

The Palacio deed was now in the custody of 
the police. Carton himself would bring it 
down in a few days. 

‘‘Hurrah!” shouted Uri, as much interested 
as if he were in Vance’s place. “Ain’t we all 
glad!” 


VANCE SEVIER. 


341 


He shook hands heartily all around, then 
added, rather whimsically: 

wish Arizony were here. She would be 
so pleased, Vance 

‘‘Arizony is a— a brick!’’ was Vance’s sen- 
tentious comment. 

Mr. Martel said nothing, but looked very 
knowing. Mrs. Sevier again professed a de- 
sire to see this Arizony, whom the boys seemed 
to like so much. 

“An admirable girl,” declared the lawyer, 
at last. “All she wants is an opportunity. 
Wait and see.” 

So they waited and enjoyed themselves, un- 
til, one fine day, a buggy drove up; then out 
jumped Mr. Carton and— Arizony. 

“This is some of your work, Mr. Martel,” 
cried Vance, to the jolly New York lawyer. 

And Mr. Martel only winked and smiled, in 
a self-satisfied way. 

After greetings all around, the detective 
handed the real Palacio deed to Mrs. Sevier, 
who thanked him warmly. 


342 


VANCE SEVIER. 


^‘You and I will have to go i^to the cypress 
timber line together, Vance,’’ said the lawyer. 
‘‘I furnish the money, you the management, 
and Uri— Well, I think TJri will have to be our 
superintendent on the Wetmore Tract. Eh, 
boy! Well, now, Arizony, how is your father! 
Still sore over what we are not going to do!” 

^‘No, sir. They will all fight for you now! 
Your kindness to Uri, father and myself has 
won over the mountain folks completely.” 

‘‘Now, good people,” said the widow, “if 
everything is satisfactorily settled, let us go in 
and have dinner. Vance, my son, take in Ari- 
zony.” 

Mr. Martel, with Mrs. Sevier on his arm, led 
the way. 


THE END. 


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